A Thousand Generations
by Mister Buch
Summary: A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away... Grand Moff TARKIN tirelessly searches for Rebel threats to the evil GALACTIC EMPIRE. Meanwhile at the dark heart of the Empire, middle-aged pilot MARI DALTO recovers a forgotten relic of the Jedi knights...
1. Prologue

**Star Wars: A Thousand Generations**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This is a fic I've started and stopped several times. Story of my life. But here is the final, proper version! This is intended to be my final pice of fanfic - so it's a bit of a big deal for me. I hope you like it.

It's a short adventure story with original characters (and Grand Moff Tarkin) set a year or two before the original movie. The idea of it was a) to imagine what life was like for ordinary people during the 'dark times' of the Empire, and b) explore a line that always puzzled me. In _Star Wars_, Han's claim that he doesn't 'believe' in the Force baffled me, espescially after the prequels. Hopefully this story explains that a little!

(The quotes at the top of every chapter are taken from the movie screenplays. The first one actually is from an early draft of _Revenge of the Sith_.)

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_This two-bit fan-fiction is dedicated to Matthew Stover and James Luceno, for reminding us what it looks like when this stuff is done right._

* * *

Prologue

* * *

_The battle appears to be over. Wookiees stack destroyed droids while clones assess the damage to their equipment. Master Luminara Unduli talks with eight clone officers standing in a circle around her. Suddenly they reveal their hidden pistols._

_

* * *

_

This is the death of a Jedi.

Unduli's life has been dedicated, from an early age, to mastery of her body, her mind and the galaxy that surrounds her. She is among the most physically skilled and nimble members of the Jedi Order. Now there are men in plastoid armour pointing blasters at her, and she cannot move. In her last moments, she feels she is failing.

These men are her allies. She has battled alongside them these last painful years, and given all of her strength to them today. The Republic's efforts in the Battle of Kashyyyk have exhausted Unduli, Master Quinlan Vos, and the Grandmaster Yoda himself. The Forty-First Elite and the Five-Oh-First fought with them, and these men sacrificed just as much as the Masters. More, in fact; they gave their lives. Now they will take hers for reasons she will never understand.

Her tranquil yet bright blue eyes strain as they race from left to right, desperately trying to make sense of what she sees, what she senses. Her exquisite dancer's grace is inaccessible, and the hilt of her lightsaber ignores its silent instruction to warm her hand.

Defending against the tenacious Separatist assaults from the sea has driven her energy from her, and the light from the day. Now in the dim light of the room their dull, black weapons are harder to make out, and their camouflage armour hides them from her more than it did from their enemy.

Privately, she had enjoyed that these men had dressed in this particular shade of green. Though she has served the Jedi Order with something resembling love for as long as she can remember, she maintains a slight, yet stubborn, grip on her Mirialan heritage. Her race means little to her and she is happy to be regarded as 'human' by all but those closest to her, but there are traditions. She wears her tattoos almost proudly, respects the memory of her master just a touch more for their shared origins, and has only ever trained Mirialan apprentices. On this most trying of days, she had enjoyed having soldiers around her who were painted the same olive-green as she. It was almost like having her apprentice with her again.

Before the guns were drawn, she had been preparing to assist in the healing. Without her abilities, more of her men will die. She will die.

Something inside her head, or perhaps something deeper, snaps and she reflexively calms herself, finds strength, looks for her next move. Her ability to think, plan and move in the heat of battles is a gift. This talent brought her to the Order and kept her away from the agricultural programme. It kept her and her dear padawan alive at Geonosis, and aided the Republic through the following years. It helped win this battle, too. She knows it can't save her life now, but she doesn't think about that. It will serve her once more. Now that she has overcome her initial panic, her death is inconsequential. Without her realising, her thoughts recite the Jedi Code.

_There is no death, there is the Force. There is no chaos, there is harmony._

Hearing the mantra backwards as she surveys her surroundings, she finds no escape. Her end will come very quickly. She has the option of lashing out with her hand and throwing two or three of the officers backwards, injuring or killing them. If she moves now, perhaps she could even cut them down. Maybe this would buy her some time, and she might save herself. But her blade is still. She cannot so much as rattle it in its fabric casing.

_There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

As Unduli allows herself to be guided by her instincts and her connection to the Force, she glances at the bodies of the men. There is a slight hesitation in some of them, but Commander Faie and the others are resolute and professional. They exude loyalty and brotherhood, as they always have, but they do not believe themselves murderers. This is no simple coup. Something is very wrong, but not with them.

Everything around them is disturbed, but blinded by their driving emotions, they will not see it. The Force overwhelms her with pain but she cannot use the moment to identify what she senses. Then there is a sudden silence to it.

The first shot from the clones rings out.

Something terrible has happened. Her fingers move quicker than those of the clones, making an open fist, waiting for the familiar grooves of her silver-white hilt to complete it.

She moves her elbow to outstretch her arm, to push the soldiers away from her. Sensing nothing sinister in their actions, she mourns them as she prepares to snap their necks. They do not understand even as much as she does.

But the shots are out now, so many after the initial bolt was released from its barrel, as if the squeezing of the first trigger has activated all of the guns. Heat moves in perfect, straight lines toward her centre from all around, and she feels it beneath her black sleeves. Her elbow is still bent, and she knows she cannot straighten it quickly enough.

Images of Barriss and Quinlan and Yoda glance across her deep eyes. Words they chose in their grandest moments whisper to her humbly again. She remembers Skywalker, too, but she does not know why. His smiling, arrogant features return to her memory, the righteous ferocity with which he moved his blue blade. More than that, the sorrow inside him, wounds he had carved himself for reasons she did not understand, never had time to figure out. She remembers the glimpses of him she gained on their first mission together. She remembers sensing his poorly-cloaked longing for her comfort, for a mother. There was no time to help him then, but she knew he had his Master. The two share an awkward bond, but Obi-Wan was the ideal teacher for Skywalker. As the holonet is so fond of proclaiming, they are a perfect partnership. As strongly as she has ever allowed herself, she hopes that the quiet, brilliant mentor has helped that young knight to heal those wounds, or that he will, once the Wars are done.

The bolts hit her now, puncturing her chest and knocking her down immediately. She lands with her neck twisted a little more than is comfortable, and just focuses on ignoring that sensation. She sees green-black boots and the red flashes reflecting across them.

The Master wonders if Yoda and Quinlan will also be targeted by the clones. As her body gives way and falls silent, she wishes she had moved faster, been more decisive. In a last grasp for consolation, she tells herself that those two are wiser and more given to military strategy than she. If any Jedi knights can survive this strange attack, it is them. She does not allow herself to think about Barriss now.

Again she finds herself recalling Skywalker's face, and this time he is smiling with warmth and detachment. She remembers how she came to know the lonely, frightened padawan learner, if only a little. A moment from that mission returns to her, one she is proud of. 'The Force,' she had said to Obi-Wan, 'will be with you, always.' Now she hopes that he passed those words on to his student.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

She has no time to close her eyes. As the troopers surrounding her step back and lower their weapons, their Commander activates a portable communicator and reports his unit's success. The Jedi's body is motionless. Tied by a wisp of black fabric, the metal shell of her lightsaber surrenders its feeble efforts to break free and clatters onto the floor.


	2. A Long Time

_A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..._

* * *

Mari Dalto blinked slowly, enjoying the teasing promise of sleep when her eyes were closed. As she regained her determination, she stared back out into the starscape, through the smudges on her cockpit viewscreen.

Her little spacecraft floated quiet and still, looking down over the even-quieter wreckage of what looked like an old CR70 Corvette. It had clearly been modified a great deal. More recently, it had been bombarded by lasers, deliberately snapping off the head. The white paint-job looked dirty now, maybe because of debris, maybe the atmosphere-gunk on Mari's screen.

The galaxy seemed awfully grey lately. Less than twenty years into its promised thousand year run, the First Galactic Empire was already looking rough around the edges. Time and unrest had dulled the durasteel hulls of the fleet, hardened the faces of the smart, posh officers in their pressed uniforms and cotton caps. Even the stormtroopers were different now. Not so colourful. As she stared, sleep-drugged, through the dirty spacescreen, Mari wondered how things would have turned out if the old Wars had never happened. At least there was peace now, of a sort.

Maybe she was just projecting. After all, she was starting to show grey edges herself.

Banishing her thoughts with a quick slug of stimcaf, Mari blinked again and concentrated. An hour ago, she had brought her shuttle to a complete halt in empty space. The delay and fuel waste would not make her managers happy on return to Imperial Centre, but the big starship she saw was just too interesting to ignore. And damn it, she was feeling unruly.

Her gaze rested on the severed front of the ship, now lurching downwards at an almost imperceptible speed. Of course, out here 'down' was relative, but Mari had long ago decided that down was the direction indicated by the soles of her boots. This was one of the little powers she held when she was alone in outer space.

With no markings and now ID signature to go off, Mari could not guess at the identity of the unfortunate vessel. Judging by the massive, clean hit it had taken however, she guessed that its crew had upset the officials. Through the hour, it had shown no signs of life, failing to answer her calls and activating no systems save the auto-distress call that had brought her out of light-speed.

Now she had a choice. She could ignore it, she could ignore it and file a report, or she could attempt an unrequested docking. It certainly looked like the army was long gone, but if she was caught snooping she'd have a hard time explaining herself to them.

As she ran a hand across her short, black hair to focus, she chuckled. She suddenly felt very much like a pirate.

And it had been a long day. Mari didn't feel like ending it by filing a report on her unauthorised detour. Perhaps she would simply enjoy the serene view for a few more minutes, finish the caf and get moving.

The sound of Crispin's bare feet slapping against the floor made her cringe slightly. He would want to check this out. She had thought he was asleep already.

'What's wrong?' cried a familiar voice, dragging her eyes away from the smudged glass. 'What happened? Are we damaged?' Rather than fear, the hasty questions exuded an impatient glee.

'You'd like that, Cris?' she replied slowly and quietly, hoping he would follow her example.

'Ha ha! Well, no, not exactly. Just, you know. It'd make a change.'

_Change,_ Mari thought, _is bad._

Leaning into her seat and pushing it backwards in the process, Mari met her young co-pilot's eyes. 'You have an Academy deadline you're hoping to miss? Pin the blame on the Mid Rim riff raff?'

He grinned at her, even leaning in a touch. It was hard to dislike him. She turned to smirk slightly. 'Well, tell your dad this one's my fault. I came out of hyperspace early. Look at that thing. I think it's a Corvette. Was.'

At the prompt, Crispin took a glance at the two starship pieces.

'Spice gangs,' he announced with undeserved gravitas.

'I don't know a great deal about spice, but I don't think they operate here, and I don't hear much about them attacking stray ships. Anyway I'm more interested in _it_. What's it doing out here, just… sitting?'

'What are we?'

Mari smirked again and let him see it this time. Now she got a look at him, standing behind her, and realised he had just come from the bathroom. She had heard his bare, pale feet flapping against the floor and now saw his thick brown curls clumping into wet loops across his ears and neck. He wore a brown dressing robe with white underwear beneath, brazenly leaving the belt untied, and if it had been anyone else she would have reprimanded him. If it had been someone at least half her age. Or someone who didn't make her laugh quite so much.

But Cris was harmless. Still in his teens but loathe to admit it, he bristled with silly, unintentionally adorable hubris. Coming from wealthy stock in the Imperial City, he could have carried genuine dignity, but he chose not to. She liked that about him. He was out to forge his own sense of pride and justify his life at the heart of the Empire, but until then he happily answered to a female delivery pilot in her forties.

Imperial Transport was a steady job, which paid for rent, food and sometimes drinks. She had worked it for just over ten years, and always been one of the company's finest pilots. True, the work was astoundingly easy, but she liked it better than sitting in her apartment, looking at buildings. They drove what were called shuttles, but were actually more like vans with hyperdrives nailed to the floor, and delivered small to medium-sized cargo across space, largely among the central worlds. Mostly personal deliveries, some government, some supplies. Truth be told, Mari didn't usually read the invoices.

Crispin was just making money for his degree, helping on the long-haul trips. One day soon he and his silly rich-boy friends would be senators and moffs. It was a truly terrifying thought. Her co-pilots had come and gone over the last twenty-five years, and they were all kids, students needing a little work experience or flight practice. Innocent and stupid, right until the day they left her. Now she made it a personal policy never to keep in touch and see what the students would become. No-one grew up to be someone better on Imperial Centre. They all just became Imperials.

'I've looked at this long enough,' she muttered, finally. 'We've got work to do, so let's get to it. Co-ordinates, triple zero.'

Mari's birth planet was also the Empire's, though she had known it longer than they had, and treated it better too. The biggest and flashiest of the Core worlds, the Centre was a true testament to sentient engineering. The planet's surface was one big construction, made up of cities the size of countries. At night, it looked gaudy and by day it looked dull, but from space it was magnificent. Mari hated it.

She had spent her life in Gen VL docks, working with, or preferably on starships. The district was fairly close to the central hub and the Palace, the choice of her merchant parents, way back when. A brief part of her youth spent travelling had shown her that every damn part of every damn city was identical to Gen VL: invasive lights, brightly-coloured drinks, politicians. And so she had stayed, in the docks.

'Aw!' Crispin squealed, deliberately infuriating her. '_Aw!_ We aren't going to look?'

'Look with your eyes, not with your… on-duty government ships.'

He hit on something and doubled his rate of speech. 'What if there are sur_vivors?_'

'Then they're dangerous. Let's just get –' she stopped herself from saying 'home'. Nobody lived on the Centre, just worked there. Home was where you stayed up and drank stimcaff, in your favourite chair. It was where you slept. Where you were alone. The deep space between worlds was the only place Mari felt safe.

'Let's just get to Triple Zero, idiot…'

Finally Crispin stopped leaning over her, drawing his head level with hers as he dropped down into his seat.

'You want to check out the ship,' he told her in an almost-whisper. His stare grew invasive and he gently wafted his left hand across the bottom of her field of vision. 'You _want_ to check out the ship.'

Instantly Mari laughed from her throat. 'Okay, Master Kenobi!' she forced through the remains of her laugh, 'Let's go and check out the bloody ship.'

Crispin grinned again, but now there was a little fire in his eyes. The boy really loved his Old Republic lore, so it was to him. Mari remembered watching Kenobi on the news. The shared historical reference made her feel a little old, but it had clearly thrilled Crispin.

These days, not many people would have understood that joke, let alone enjoyed it so fiercely. He was a smart kid. Sometimes it was hard to remember that.


	3. Mynocks

_Chewie, check the rest of the ship. Make sure there are no more attached… chewin' on the power cables._

_Mynocks._

_

* * *

_

It was another half-hour before they were finally inside the head-piece of the derelict vessel. Handling her transport runner as if it were made of crystal, Mari eased _Shuttle I-LO_ through the wide-open hangar doors and nestled it onto the docking bay floor.

The shuttle's door slid open to reveal a perfectly ordinary ship's docking bay, and she suddenly felt very small. Her own ship inconvenienced only half of this bay, which she assumed was one of many. The interior walls were a cleaner white than the outside, and the room seemed much less distressed. The blast doors had failed to close, but the automatic ray-shielding made it possible for them to reach the next room.

Mari's hard-rimmed rebreather mask chaffed the flat bridge of her nose, but in the reduced gravity, the tube dangling from it scraped her skin less than usual. Wearing the device still made her uneasy. Watching her breath get trapped on its clear casing made her uncomfortable. Frustrated, she felt the heat bounce back into her.

There was little room to explore in the round, re-sculpted front of the ship, but both intruders reasoned that if there was anything to see, it would be there. Everything to the starboard side of the bay was just twisted metal, but to port, Mari and Crispin found a corridor leading to the cockpit, with a few little rooms to either side. It seemed like these were being used as storage, but were originally designed for some more official purpose. There were sculpted holes in the snow-white floor where computer banks had been ripped out, and horizontal scrapes on the walls where crates had been crammed.

When only two of the little store-rooms remained, Mari was happy to accept Crispin's suggestion of splitting-up. The novelty of free adventuring had already worn off for her, and the surgical cleanliness of the wreck bothered her. If there had been a fight, there should be mess. Stormtroopers didn't exactly go out of their way to bury criminals.

A few glances around Mari's room revealed nothing obviously out of order but for a strongbox, open and at an odd angle. Clearly it had been dragged here and in a hurry, no doubt from a hiding place she had not seen.

Lifting the lid, she saw a pile of stacked blasters, untidy at the top where some had been removed. It was no surprise after the damage she had seen on the hull, but the sight made her nervous.

Immediately, Mari glanced behind her, half out of nerves and half to make sure Crispin couldn't see. He would _love_ this. Part of her did too; in her youth she had liked guns. For an observer, before the Separatists reached the core worlds, the Clone Wars had been jolly good fun. Violence had seemed like sport back then, conducted for political points on far off-worlds by droids and faceless, replaceable troopers. Everything changed at the end of the Wars.

It made Mari smile to recognise some older models in good order amongst the jumbled little arsenal. After a while she had admired them all, leaving only a belt of detonators and a small, oblong wooden box.

The box was deliberately stashed at the very bottom, and was nicely carved, if not exquisitely so. When Mari took it she saw simple but pleasant floral patterns covered it, made with a wide knife. Sliding the top open revealed what looked like a long, thin flashlight, silver-white and ribbed with a conical base. There were slight scratches and scoring next to the disc set into its side.

Her eyes widened in contained surprise. She had never seen one, but she recognised the old weapon. It was impossible to know what a lightsaber was doing on this abandoned vessel in the middle of nowhere, and it started her wondering who the owners had been. Had their hidden cache been the target of the attack? Probably not; aside from the strongbox, nothing in the room had been moved.

But there was a lightsaber here. She was kneeling in the fresh wreckage of an unmarked ship, carrying a _lightsaber_, and on the clock. She stood, just in time to hear Crispin's footsteps again. As slowly as she could afford, she jammed the lid back onto the container. In the last moment, she heard his excited, heavy breathing coming through her speakers, and smiled. With sudden speed she snatched up the pretty wooden box and tucked it neatly into the back of her belt. It would make a damn fine Empire Day present.

Crispin was beaming as he strolled over to her. 'Mari!' he called, loudly, directly into her ears. 'I found something!'

_Please not old Republic weapons_, Mari mouthed, remembering at the last second that her microphone would have picked up a whisper. _We'll be here all night._

The young man stopped walking, but the footsteps continued. From behind him emerged a shimmering silver protocol droid. The standard design, meant to be recognisable and trustworthy. It moved in quick steps and with its arms bent in permanent subservience.

'Good afternoon, madam,' it said crisply, nodding just a little. 'I am KN-11, personal assistance and etiquette. And you are?'

She looked at it.

'Good _afternoon_, human? My etiquette programming only extends so far to scavengers, I'm afraid.'

Mari glared back, not knowing what to think or do about this development, and puzzled by that last part. The droid, whoever it belonged to, seemed angry with her. This was new.

'Afternoon.'

It stared back.

How the hell had Cris convinced her to touch down here, anyway? Maybe he really did know the 'Jedi mind trick'.

'Were you attacked?' she tried.

'This vessel sustained fire from Imperial Star Destroyer _Allecto_ precisely one...'

'I don't need the details!' Mari snapped back, raising her right palm a couple of inches. The less she knew, the better. If the droid belonged to the owners, it was none of her business. If it was Imperial, she needed to leave. She looked to the ceiling in anger before asking, 'Are there survivors? Can we help?' She hoped he would say no, but purely for her own sake.

'I require no help from you, stranger. All survivors have been arrested and removed.' Annoyingly, the droid had gone from being too precise to being too vague. There was not enough emotion there to tell her his opinion.

'Except you,' Crispin said. His tone had dropped. At first he had seemed excited by the discovery.

'Except me, sir,' the robot answered, adding venom to his voice to make up for his forcibly-placating face.

'Good for you,' Mari replied, completely unaware of what to make of the situation and just wanting them both to be quiet.

'Well, this is interesting. You want to take him back to Imperial Centre?' Crispin started, before Mari talked over him.

'I think we should get off this ship,' she said loudly, just in case the droid was recording them. Best to play the dumb, good citizen. 'If there's no-one in need of help then there's–'

A laser bolt cut her short, its screech launching her body to the ground. Crispin reacted more slowly, merely jumping back against the wall, but there was no second shot.

The blaster entered the room in the pale hands of a tall human man. He was gangly, but had a few muscles built up, and had desperate eyes that rested below short, white hair. He dressed as any independent spacer would, casual and indistinct, and his mouth was thin and straight as a knife-edge.

'Imperials?' he spat at them, his high and accented voice wavering a little. 'I would've just watched you leave if you hadn't said that... you don't need th… take off your breathers.'

Mari did as she was told and stared back from the floor.

'Sure wish you'd 'a just left 'em alone, Kayenn…'

The droid angled its head. 'I do apologise, Captain Bitters. Far be it from me to doubt the emergency navigational abilities of a semi-delirious computer programmer.'

'Told you, I can get us out of here.'

'Captain, you are only recently out of shock. And this shuttle might at least present a faster option.'

'This _Imperial_ shuttle, Kayenn. Leave the thinking to me. And stop calling me Captain, for crying out loud. You'd make a terrible spy.' Revealing teeth, he moved his attention to Mari. 'Headed to Cor… Imperial _Centre_, now, are we?'

It was pointless lying or trying to antagonise him, so she just nodded. It was interesting, though, that he had almost used the old name of the capital planet. She still preferred to think of it as _Coruscant_ as well. The strange attacker looked old enough to remember those days, but he certainly didn't sound like a native to the capital.

It was obvious that he was sizing her up too, and it seemed more than likely he had no love of Imperials.

Technically they were just that, though it depended on what meaning of the word he was using. To some an 'Imperial' just meant a citizen of the Empire, but to people with blasters it meant something more sinister. It implied a grey uniform, or worse, black, and a cold detachment. Official slavers, secret police, military commanders. Mari began to curse her core-world accent, but was glad it was so faded and colloquial now. At least she didn't look the part. Their voices varied sometimes, but Imperials were smug, privileged white men.

Crispin's presence would not help. She sincerely hoped the young man would be perceptive enough to keep his mouth shut, but knew he would not.

'Now look here…' he started, right on cue in his most polished, plummy Coruscanti. Hell, he sounded better than the droid. The reward for his spectacular foolishness was a blaster barrel trained on his forehead.

Mari wanted to jump up to help, but knew that would be as good as pulling the trigger herself. Instead she watched, and bore into the man's eyes to bring them back to her.

'We came here looking for survivors,' the lad half-lied with impressive confidence.

'Uh-huh. And what are two fine, upstanding Centre-dwellers like yourselves doing this far out from the core? Right here in my ship.' An unexpected quiver in his voice alerted Mari. He had no reason to be scared.

'We followed your ion trail out of hyperspace. We're not government.'

'You in the docking bay?' the gunman insisted.

'Yes,' Mari said, loud and slow. The shooter looked back, apparently considering Cris less of a threat, and watched her. As he did, his long, sweat-stuck fingers played fast and effortless across a keyboard. A live feed from the docking bay appeared on a screen that had been black, and enlarged itself a moment later.

The man's hard eyes shot over to the image for less than a second, then returned to her. 'Imperial_ Transport Shuttle I-LO_,' he recited, smiling madly. The gun shook a little before he laughed and quickly straightened his arm.

Mari blinked instinctively, and when she opened her eyes again the gun was pointed at the floor. Its owner swore quietly. 'You're an _IT_ girl?' he sighed, incredulous. 'I've been hiding in here this whole time for that? A nosy delivery ship?'

Her breathing kicked back in, and she looked for an appropriate answer. Finally she settled on 'yes'.

'Get up.' She did, and Crispin loosened his posture.

'Imperial Transport' the tall man said, somewhere between disbelieving and hysterical. '_Shuttle I-LO. _Real pretty name for it, too! You folks down at Imperial Centre really have artistic spirits, don't ya?'

'We call her _Shilo_,' she said quickly.

'And I call this the _Drunk Dancer,_' the man replied with similar pride. His leering, exhausted grin revealed wrinkles on his whitened face. 'I'm Bitters.'

'Hello, Bitters.'

Mari had never heard the word used as a name. She wondered if it was his first or his last.

'I'm Crispin Koryan,' the younger man announced, glancing at the droid for a moment. 'What happened here? Where are the crew?'

Bitters eyed the boy, resting his head against the wall as he did. 'They're dead, Crispin Koryan. The _Dancer's_ crew is small but talented. Was. Well, it's still small, hunh... The Imperial Army had numbers on their side, as always. They took our Commander and the navigator, killed the rest.'

'We didn't find any bodies…' Crispin began, almost accusing.

'No. You didn't.'

Now the leer had become a still snarl. The teeth were bared to shut the boy up. Thankfully this time he took the hint.

'We don't leave our fallen lying around,' Bitters muttered, blinking a lot. Mari didn't ask what he meant by 'we'. The blaster had been sufficiently intimidating and he still seemed unstable. He might have been drunk himself.

'Took the Commander,' he repeated mindlessly. His voice was deeper now, empty. Mari guessed it must have taken a lot to break the man down this much. She looked dead into his eyes again until he moved his gaze away and to his side. In this instant, she pulled the wooden box from her belt and placed it under a chair behind her, out of sight.

It was too nice for a present, anyway. Cris would have gotten her something too expensive in return. It would have been awkward.

'Well, now I know who you are,' he muttered, quiet. 'I guess I can trust you to leave quietly.'

Mari blinked, allowing her eyes to sting a little in relief. She wondered if she had dared blink up until now.

'But we don't know who you are,' Crispin said. 'The droid called you Captain. Some sort of rebellion?'

Mari could have strangled him.

'Yes, Crispin Koryan. Some sort of rebellion.' He shook his head then shrugged. '_The_ Rebellion.'

Mari blinked again. So it was true.

A few moments passed whilst Bitters watched them, and then finally holstered his pistol. 'And don't worry,' he followed. 'We're not like the soldiers you're used to.'

'How's that?' Crispin asked, genuinely curious.

'We're on your side.'

Crispin nodded. He was giving Bitters his full and undisguised attention, now. He did this for her, sometimes. The humility was striking, coming from Cris. The old Rebel seemed to pick up on it too. He smiled a little at both of them.

'Feel free to spread the word on Coruscant. We're united now, organised. We have good leadership and a symbol and everything.' He almost grinned. 'Hope, even. Give us a break, and we'll give you a new Republic.'

Of course, Mari had heard of the freedom factions, and lately plenty of rumours of the so-called Rebel Alliance. Actually seeing this man, hearing the words spoken openly, made her stomach unsettle a little with longing, but she found the thin man's boasts hollow. Here he was, the only survivor of an attack by a star destroyer, talking about a revolution. What hope did men like this have against an entire galaxy? What would they even do with it, if they won?

'We've lost good people before,' Bitters said, as if reading her thoughts. 'Sometimes really good people. But we just keep finding more, from all walks of life. It's funny.'

Mari faked a sympathetic smile, but didn't get one in return. She would have to report the ship's position immediately, or risk arrest if her presence was ever discovered. She hoped Bitters would be away before that happened.

Crispin looked back at KN-11. 'Are you with the Rebellion, too?' he asked.

The droid's neck bent to a precise degree as his voice lit the perfect circle eyes. 'I'm not sure I would class myself as such, sir, no. Nor should I wish to.'

Everyone turned to face the unassuming-looking robot, waiting for an explanation. When he finally delivered one, it was as hard to read as ever. 'I am not reb_ell_ing, sir. I am assisting my masters. The droids within the Alliance are not the _people_ it seeks to restore. We have little stake in this.'

Mari and Crispin waited for him to finish, and after a few seconds they decided that he had.

'Yeah,' said Bitters, 'he talks like that. We borrowed him from another unit, and they said not to fix him. Commander thought he was refreshing, anyway. Now. You'll have to leave the two of us. And…' he strolled over to behind Mari and quietly picked up the wooden box she thought she had hidden. '…you'll have to leave that, too. Thanks for putting it back.'

Very quickly Bitters pulled aside the wooden lid to check the contents.

'Is that…?' Crispin gaped.

'Yes, it is. And it's just about our last one, too. I guess I don't have any more right to it than you do, now. I never owned it, and neither did… any of us, really. But it'll make me happy.' For a moment his sweaty hand lifted the pale hilt into view. 'It was given to us by the people of Kashyyyk, way back. It meant a lot to them.' When Mari glanced quizzically at him, he amended, 'That's Wookiee Planet C to you.'

'No,' Crispin said, though he was now staring at the saber. 'I didn't mean that. I mean, is that an Imperial shuttle?'

Bitters spun his head to see the screen, but in doing so he blocked it from the others. After a moment he switched it off and pulled out his blaster again. 'They must have been waiting this whole time,' he announced gravely. The sorrow and exhaustion that had coloured Mari's impression of the man seemed to vanish, unnerving her.

'We have to get to your ship. Right now.'

Mari stood still while Crispin panicked and Bitters scrambled. '_My_ ship?' she demanded.

'No time to discuss it,' Bitters spat, ripping open the box of blasters. 'We're takin' off.'


	4. Dangerous

_Holding her is dangerous._

_She'll die before she'll tell you anything!_

_

* * *

_

A rough but precise impact juddered the _Drunk Dancer's_ head. Mari felt the gradual spin accelerate for the few moments it took for her and the ship to adjust. Bitters was already running, and she followed.

Inside the docking bay, _Shuttle I-LO_ sat still, taking up one corner. Suddenly it was rammed forwards as a larger, triangular military craft shoved is way in, making space for itself, cramping the vast hall. Within seconds, uniform-armoured stormtroopers were pouring out, their rifles already aimed and ready.

'Stay behind me!' Bitters yelled over the shrill, fast sound of the opening door. 'If you can't, stay behind _some_thing!' For a moment he stopped. 'All right, too late. We're making a stand. Get to the cockpit and stay there!'

With this he rushed back into the storeroom, and KN-11 strolled quietly to the opposite one, ignored. Outside the cockpit door, Mari and Crispin heard Bitters emerge with something heavy and metal. In the time he had left, the Rebel fashioned an unimpressive barricade and positioned himself in the doorframe.

Mari's hand hovered over the cockpit door controls, before flitting away and landing on Crispin's shoulder. Hearing something, she pushed him into her back, though he escaped to find a position mirroring hers and aping Bitters'.

_Protect him_, she heard her head scream, trying to overpower the whirlwind of accusatory thoughts and guesswork strategy. _Protect him and get out the moment you can._ She shouldn't have brought Crispin here. He was a kid. She hated herself. The blaster she had grabbed itched her hand. Was she about to shoot at the troopers? Should she turn herself in? Surrender?

And then the door was open and there was no time to think about any of it. The white helmets that had flashed through her panicked mind appeared for real, but the image was blasted away by a detonator she didn't see Bitters throw. He had already landed a few shots in the troopers' legs, and now he caught the midriff of one who fell to the floor.

The troopers hadn't seen her. Bitters took a moment to stay back, and looked empty again. She pitied him, and maybe even could have killed those troopers.

But he was _nineteen_. She had to keep him alive.

Bitters would never win this fight. He was one against who-knew-how-many. Mari levelled her blaster, aiming it at the Rebel's head, then thought better and pointed it at the larger target of his back.

No option. It was Bitters' life for Crispin's. No option. She wanted so badly to close her eyes, but she was too terrified to do so.

Crispin fired. The red bolt pounced away from him and smacked hard into the wall, metres away from anyone. But now the troopers were changing their aim.

.

'Now then,' said Governor Tarkin, collecting his thoughts. 'Perhaps you'd deign to speak with me, at least. I shan't be so presumptuous as to ask for the name of the system again. But something to call you, at least? I find the popular _Rebel scum_ distasteful, and I think _my dear_ would sound rather patronising.'

The woman sat across from him, on a clean, brushed slab, was pretty. Tarkin guessed her age at early thirties, but in fact he was nearly a decade off. Her black hair was long and thickly curled, tied back an hour ago but now half pulled-out, laying in wet strands over ocean blue eyes. They stood out like elegant strokes of ink against the rich, cream skin.

'Oh my,' he muttered, failing to sustain the mock enthusiasm he had intended. 'Eye contact.' A murmur now. 'Goodness me, I am getting somewhere.'

The prisoner was a curious one. Normally at this stage in an interrogation, the subject would either give up and scream confessions, or else make a game of it, laughing or inviting further abuse. The latter was slightly more time consuming. This woman merely endured, gasping and convulsing if her body needed to, with no apparent interest in putting up any front other than silence.

'It's clear you were in charge, at least. Might I call you General? Commander? I'm afraid I have no idea what sort of model your group has used for rank.'

Peculiar. But there were yet means available. And there would be more tactical errors in the Rebel plans to come. More captives.

Very few of the resistance members would be like this one. But she was fascinating, if nothing else. Such strong women were a rarity, particularly nowadays.

Her breathing became audible for a few moments. Now holding onto his eye contact quite fiercely, she tied her hair back again. What was she looking for in his face? Maybe he was getting through to her after all.

Mari watched the troopers move their sights onto her, but didn't jump back behind the door. Not yet. There was anger in her now, and no more decisions to make. Without daring to aim, she fired a blaster for the first time in her life. A second shot flew simultaneously, from Crispin's pistol, and one of the two hit.

Immediately a volley of larger, brighter bolts flew into the room, close enough to Mari's retreating face to warm it. They splattered against the walls, the floor and the viewscreen, leaving carbon scoring as a warning.

Now, protecting the lad meant shooting at the Imperial Army.

But Bitters was back in control, managing to surprise those troopers who were still picking a target. Two more men fell, and were uncaringly kicked to the side by their comrades, allowing more to emerge and fire.

Just like that, all of Bitters' opportunistic hits seemed to count for nothing. The fight had been re-set. But he fired a couple of hasty shots before diving back behind his side-door.

The massive return fire shredded the improvised barricade, even creating a couple of workable defensive positions for the troops – a durasteel cabinet and a hefty slab of a table found themselves lying sideways, facing away. Two of the troopers took advantage of a lull and dived for the cover, covered by enthusiastic fire from the others, in both directions. More men emerged in the doorway, exposed but shooting.

The empty space between Crispin and Mari flashed red on and off, reminding her of the abrasive street signs all over Triple Zero, which at that moment seemed very welcoming. Every time her vision was obscured by the volleys, she worried for the young man she couldn't see, and every time they had silence, instincts overcame her and she simply fired. On her third time away from the doorframe, she actually saw one of her shots cut a soldier's neck. Instantly, he collapsed in on himself, dropping to the floor and landing on another man's foot. Her arms tensed and shuddered, but the adrenaline still felt good.

Bitters had one more detonator, which tore apart one of the two men hiding behind the furniture, and covered the squad with smoke for a second. Mari and Crispin watched the opportunity develop but both failed to take it, numbly watching, simply unprepared for the situation. Further up, their leader knocked over two more stormtroopers with well-aimed shots.

This time, no-more emerged. Through the squealing rifles, she heard a triumphant yelp. Only two left! They were actually winning. Mari allowed herself a grin, but only half as big as Crispin's.

Through the smoke, a single blaster bolt emerged and Mari watched it, knowing exactly where it would land, screaming for a way to stop it. The short, cut-off beam seemed so harmless now that she was focused on it. Just a rectangle of colour. What harm could that do?

With a thud that seemed louder, more visceral than the rest, Bitters slammed down. His punctured chest hit the wall and then the floor.

Crispin, safe in the cockpit and hidden from view, slumped down likewise, helplessly distraught, empty. The look on his face made Mari aware of a pain in her stomach. For a moment there was no gunfire.

.

The Grand Moff didn't usually conduct interrogations personally, but he had a particular interest here. The prisoner was a leader within the Rebellion. She knew the location of their headquarters.

The so-called 'Alliance' was becoming something of a popular myth among the people of his sectors and the evidence suggested it was gaining more and more real-world support. It was hard to find concrete evidence of the new movement, but there were marks left on the galaxy's surface, scratches and disturbances that were testament to the disease spreading beneath.

Tarkin was adept at tracking these oddities and ironing them out. Most of those who watched him assumed that the Clone Wars had taught him this skill, and drew comparisons between the current threat and the old Confederacy of Independent Systems. But these people misunderstood the cause and effect. It was his vision and his intolerance for such underhanded forces that had granted him success in the Wars. This had made him a sector governor, and then a Moff once the Empire was firmly established.

It was his drive that had elevated him, his unwillingness to live with threats. Acceptance that every level in the hierarchy brought greater enemies and greater weapons against them. Greater control for the wielder, and thus power. It was his passion for the ultimate weapon that had made him who he was. And of course, there was the doctrine.

The Tarkin Doctrine had been a magnificent boon to his career and to the security of the Empire itself. The meaning and the use of the doctrine had taken many forms, but the words remained clear. Every man in government and military alike knew the condensed version. _Rule through fear of force, rather than force itself._

The fear of force was great, and Tarkin had used it to make himself powerful. It had justified the installation of oversectors and the Grand Moffs, of whom he was the first. The gathering Rebellion was yet to strike, but Tarkin had shaped himself and his doctrine to combat it.

Once he knew the location of the secret base, of their fleet, it would be over. Once there was no opposition and His Majesty possessed supreme power, He would be untouchable.

Security.

The report to the palace would be a simple one. A military ship had been encountered within the core, and the uprising had been dealt with. All prisoners were executed, and this last one rather more slowly.

Ho hum.

.

_Do something, Mari. I don't _know _what. Do something._

The pain hit her stomach again, and Mari wondered if she had been shot. Looking down, almost scared to take her eyes from the advancing troopers, she saw that she was uninjured. Instinctively she looked at Crispin, but he was fine too.

_They're coming._

She watched a white-armoured elbow steadily encroach into her field of vision. There was no time to think of something. Crispin needed to get up.

_Get _up,_ Crispin._

The blasterfire re-emerged, this time appearing right after she heard the blasts, pummelling the walls quicker. She became aware of an appalling smell. No time.

Feeling that ending it now would be preferable to watching, she hurled herself into the corridor, firing her blaster in whatever direction it was facing. She found the two stormtroopers even closer than she had imagined, pressing the barrel hard into one of them by accident and hurting her wrist. When he dropped she felt a neat hole being punched into her other forearm, and killed the remaining trooper without trying.

Her head swam into an uncomfortable thickness, as if a night's drinks had hit her all at once. Cris was up now, and making her stand too. Without feeling her legs she saw them straighten and hoped he would keep her steady.

Bitters was there, smiling calmly. It was good to see. He looked so comfortable.

'You take this,' he said to her, pressing something cold into her hand, something dappled with sweat drops. Oh, the laser sword. She groped around with her thumb, trying to avoid the buttons and plate that might set the thing off. Bitters' breathing was very loud.

'You take this, sister, and get it back to Dantooine where it belongs. You take it back, and may the Force be with you.'

The boy started to speak, but she pulled him away. They needed to get away from this.

.

She spat at him, but Tarkin did not smile. As pleased as he was with the breakthrough, he had been spat at.

All he had done was mention the Wookiee planet. It had not even been intended to incite her. It was one of the more frequent destinations logged into her navigational apparatus. Of course, like the others, it would make an appalling secret base. Tarkin guessed that the most frequent stop-off point had its records erased, and that it was somewhere distant and unheard of.

Cleaning himself, he kept his close distance. He didn't expect her to spit again. Thus far she had seemed completely calm, ignoring him as one might an unruly child.

The mind-probe had achieved nothing, though it had been applied vigorously enough to kill the other prisoner. This one simply looked at him, not even aggressive until now, as if the neural implants were broken.

So far he had yet to find the 'on' switch.

Perhaps this Wookiee planet…

For fifteen minutes he questioned her on the subject, applied stimulations to weaken her a bit, even raised his voice. But her guard had not been down long. A second after her little reaction, she closed her eyes and her mouth again.

Three hours later, he gave up. Standing to his full height, Wilhuff Tarkin turned away from her and left the medical room. His firm yet slender fingers grasped one-another behind his back as he entered the adjoining office. A rather crude one-way mirror showed him the Rebel still silent, but he did not look.

Almost as if he had timed it, a communicator issued a two-tone bleep and revealed the blue-white, flickering image of Lieutenant Taq Acys.

'_Governor, sir,_' it began respectfully. Tarkin nodded but looked through the image, into the table. He placed his hand on his chin, still thinking. Above it severe features were arranged around high cheekbones and a forehead edged in white. The face was well-known and feared just as much. Some claimed rather to despise it, but Tarkin knew this amounted to the same thing.

'Good evening, Acys,' he replied distantly.

'_Disappointing news from the team we left on the Rebel ship, sir. Killed, the lot of them. Some sort of ambush. There was a survivor we missed, it seems. And he had help._'

The fate of a handful of white helmets meant little to Tarkin, but the report left him with questions.

'What do you mean, a survivor you _missed?_'

The hologram straightened its neck. '_Our squad leader only gave us a hasty report. __We assume the man was hiding when the ship was boarded. We had suspected the _Drunk Dancer_ was once a smuggler's ship._'

'And now it belongs to a single Rebel, who managed to outwit a troop of my men.'

'_He's not alone, sir. Bizarrely, before it was boarded by our own men, the freighter hosted an Imperial Transport shuttle. We think the pilots helped our Rebel in the ambush._'

'Imperial _Transport?_ A registered ship from Imperial Centre?'

'IT Shuttle I-LO_,_' said the hologram speaker. '_One of their older vehicles. I can't imagine what sort of package they might have been delivering. I wonder if they got a return address!_'

Tarkin did not care to respond to the meek little joke, but wanted to discourage it nonetheless. "Find out," he said simply. There was enough ambiguity in his face to sufficiently intimidate the young officer.

'_Yes, sir,_' Acys began to say, but Tarkin ended the conference at the beginning of the second syllable.

Grand Moff Tarkin saw clues everywhere, but it required little investigative insight to track an Imperial Transit delivery ship. He could not yet fathom what affiliation these civilian pilots had with the freighter's former crew, or how much they knew. But he would have his answers quickly.

His vision was keen and precise. When it fell on a sector, a planet, a man, it penetrated that target's skin, gleaming insight and revealing weak points. He sought the rebel base now, grimly determined to snuff it out.

The Grand Moff did not make mistakes; Senators and Moffs made mistakes. Vader made mistakes. Perhaps the Rebels had made their next one already.

Re-activating the holoprojector, Tarkin spoke a simple command to the armed officers guarding the facility. 'Terminate her.' He had wasted enough time on this. He had pressing business with Imperial Transport's customer services department.

As he sank back into his chair, his mind scanning the galaxy for the secret base, he heard a shot and a muted thump. For a moment, his head moved toward the mirror.


	5. A Bad Feeling

_I have a bad feeling about this.

* * *

_

There was a little console in _Shuttle I-LO's_ cockpit that Mari never used. It was an administrative thing, designed for ship-to-ship performance comparisons within the company. It had a flashing red light that was always just in her field of vision, distracting her for no good reason. Asking her to check her fuel efficiency. Now she found that, once deactivated, its keyboard made a great pillow.

Her eyes were closed to blot out the swirling lights of hyperspace, which she had always found ugly and which had been making her headache much worse. A lot of pilots claimed to enjoy jumping to lightspeed; watching the stars themselves bend to their will made them happy. The resulting white-purple display that seemed to surround one's ship was nothing but a trick of the light, but they felt like they were 'riding a storm'. These were primarily male pilots. It gave Mari a headache.

She estimated they had about another hour in hyperspace, before arriving back at Serroco, their original drop-off. For the moment, it seemed like the only place she could go, and it was in the right direction: away.

If only she had handed the Serroco job to someone else. Like Jinda. It would have been funny to hear of Jinda getting shot at on an illegal starship. That'd teach her to switch shifts without telling anyone and get away with it by sweet-talking the line manager.

A portable bacta-casing was strapped to Mari's arm, which was hurting enough to elicit near-constant groans when nobody could hear her. The blaster bolt she had taken had thankfully missed the bone, diagonally hitting the fleshy part beneath and ending up in the _Drunk Dancer's_ floor. Her right arm felt fantastic by comparison. The blaster bolt had really made her appreciate having a painless, working arm. Idly, she swirled her fingers about, stretching them and making shapes.

The last few hours had been spent in the combined office and medical bay, really little more than a desk, a computer and a bacta tank. After spending some time trying to jam her arm into the tank, in order to avoid going in there without clothes, she gave up and settled for the wrap-around limb casing in the first aid kit. Crispin had reluctantly fetched it for her, grumbling that it wouldn't heal right, suddenly a medical expert. It would do, she told him, for now at least. Now she was bored of sitting in the office, and wanted to feel some semblance of control over her life. So, the cockpit.

Across from her makeshift bedding, another red light flashed. There was a familiar shrill bleep.

This was it, then.

Slowly, the grim pallor of reality dripped into Mari's field of vision, saturating the ship as she watched, making her arm throb angrily. Her communicator was bleeping.

This was the Empire, calling their lost shuttle to let Mari know she was under arrest for treason. It was probably Lord Vader himself, with a friendly warning that his flagship was inbound and warming up its ion cannons. He probably had Jinda with him, laughing and pouring him a drink. Shining his helmet.

Inhaling loudly, she lifted her hand to receive the dreaded call. The movement shot an unsubtle warning along her nervous system, and she let herself relax again.

The light continued flashing, but she just shook her head at it. She wasn't going to face what had happened just yet. None of it made sense yet. Mari Dalto wasn't the kind of person to smuggle herself aboard Rebel Alliance runners. She didn't kill stormtroopers, and she certainly didn't have a hole in her arm or a used lightsaber in her pocket.

Vader, or whoever it was, relented. Like her good arm, the silence wonderful. Mari closed her eyes and gently nuzzled back into the keyboard, feeling the buttons meekly depress at the touch of her skin.

For the fourth time that hour, KN-11 fluttered into the cockpit and stared at her. Hearing his whirring joints, she remained silent, waiting for him to either insult her or walk away.

'I should prefer to part ways when we reach your destination,' he said. 'Not that I don't enjoy watching humans trembling in catatonic shock, but frankly I have seen enough of it today.'

She liked him. 'How's Crispin?'

'He is in the bunkroom, madam, shuddering a lot and engaging in emotional, one-sided arguments with various pieces of furniture.'

'Shut up, Kayenn,' she muttered, and immediately stood to see to the lad. Her arm objected, shooting a jolt of pain into her that made her half-yelp, not quite managing to suppress it. To the droid's credit, he did shut up.

The communicator bleeped again, a less urgent tone this time. Annoyed, Mari nudged her elbow on the panel and watched a fresh holomessage play out.

Reilar Koryan's stern face glowered at an empty spot on the wall. Oh.

Mari had never seen a hologram take so long to speak. She watched the blue image shift left and right for a few seconds, his nervousness exaggerated by interference from hyperspace and the long distance. '_Son,_' he finally said. '_This is…_' He looked around. '_The constabulary visited us today._' Mari tensed at the word. Black uniforms. Caps.

'_And I'm taking a great risk by calling you at all. It's as well to do this in a message. Delete it immediately. I… well._' Koryan was silent again. '_You don't know how much you've hurt your mother. We knew you were a bit of a… character. I tolerated your interest in unofficial sorts of…_' The hologram came further away. It was impossible to say what he was feeling, but the flickering image looked pained.

Wincing and feeling her chest tighten, she muttered at the image. 'Oh, I have a bad–'

'_You stay away from us, Rebel scum. Stay away from Imperial Centre. If you had only thought about how this would affect us, you stupid, stupid lad. If you… Crispin, your mother was–_'

Mari rested on the button again, more sharply, and ended the message. With another two presses, she did as Mister Koryan had asked and deleted the recording. Silently, she headed to the bunk. With his angled joints whining quietly, KN-11 waddled after her.

It was a meagre room containing a short, thin bed and little else. It was included only to fulfil archaic Senate regulations regarding berths on long-haul flights. Mari slept on it sometimes, but before or after trips, never during. Crispin had used it during the stop-off at Serenno, while she delivered the cargo. It had been a pretty planet, and he had missed out, she thought. But he had apparently been up all night at some nightclub or other, and needed the nap.

Now he was there again, wrapped in the bath robe as before, as if trying to return to the blissful time before they had trespassed in the _Drunk Dancer's_ wreckage.

'Hi,' she said. He looked shaken up. That fact that he was trying to hide it, anddoing such a poor job, made him even more pitiable.

'Hi,' he said back. It was all she could do to avoid hugging him. Instead she moved his silly, young haircut away from his eyes for a moment, to let him see properly.

What was there to say? She settled for smiling, as matronly as she could manage, and sitting herself in the little nook in the wall.

'How's your arm?'

Really, sometimes she wanted to kiss him. 'It's better,' she said.

Crispin nodded with his eyelids half closed. He was doing his best to look tough. 'Have you had any transmissions from the I.T.? Your boss?' Crispin didn't know the manager's name. As he had always put it, _I show up, I keep you entertained, I ask if I can take the helm, I ask again, I go home. I don't need to know this stuff._

'No,'

'Oh.' His mood lightened. 'I was kind of hoping the Imperial Army would be after us. I guess we got away scot-free, eh? Shame, I was looking forward to the next space battle.' He offered a slack grin.

'We're in trouble,' Mari said flatly. 'Imperial Centre knows what happened. I don't think we can go back.'

'Oh,' he said again.

She brought her smile back out. It was the standard bad-news-so-brace-yourself smile, but she kept quiet and just let it hang there. The repercussions of the day's adventure were still dawning on Mari, but Crispin was losing so much more. He had a bright future ahead of him. Well, a grey, Imperial future, but a damn good one. Until moments ago, Crispin had been rich, driven, privileged and loved. It had been more than a decade since Mari had had any of that. Now he was a criminal, stranded on a stolen transporter, flying as fast as it could out of the core.

'Damn Empire,' he said. She instinctively shushed him before remembering they were alone. And even if there had been passers-by, it no longer mattered. They were condemned already. Calling the government names was nothing to them now. In a way, she felt free.

But she was doing a pretty poor job of protecting Cris.

'I'm sorry I brought us down there. I shouldn't have–'

The speed of Crispin's rebuttal suggested that he had expected this. 'Answered a distress call?' he finished for her. 'Helped a good man after the Army took away his commander and killed his crew? Shouldn't have felt sympathy for him? Struck a _blow?_'

'_No_, exactly. Shouldn't have done any of those things. I'm not a revolutionary, I'm your boss.' She wanted to wince. She had never called herself that.

Crispin shook his head fast, disapproving. His head turned away smoothly and shyly. 'Shouldn't have taken the blasted droid with us, I'll tell you that. Probably relayed our names to the Empire the moment you turned your back on him.'

_I_, Mari silently fumed, _didn't give my name._

KN-11 was in the hallway behind her. She hoped he would remain quiet while he was there.

'Unless my auditory sensors are malfunctioning through lack of maintenance, which would _not_ surprise me after spending so much time amongst the damnable Rebels, then your involvement was relayed to the Empire by the stormtrooper squadron-leader.'

Mari nodded, remembering the pale, washed-orange shoulder plate she had seen. 'The one at the back,' she said.

Crispin corrected her. 'The one who died _last_. And droid, you could show those _damnable Rebels_ a little respect. They died while you hid in the store-room, and then Bitters died when you hid in the _other_ store-room!'

'Master Koryan, my arms are permanently bent inwards. How do you suggest I might have waged your war? Fired sideways? I suppose I could have kicked–'

'You could have taken a few blasts to the _head_, mate, and maybe saved your master that way! Done us all a favour!'

'Captain Bitters, sir, was not my owner.'

'And who is? The stormtrooper commander? Kinda funny how you survived both shoot-outs without a single scuff! Kinda funny how every crewman was discovered except the one made out of shiny, silver-painted tin! Funny how your ship was caught off-guard in the first place!'

'I am quite unmoved by the crew's fate, sir, but be assured I find nothing amusing in it.'

Mari saw the fight coming before Crispin had even got up, and stopped it before he had made a fist. She wanted him to feel better, but beating-up a robot wasn't going to help any.

'He survived,' Crispin said, looking through Mari and into KN-11's photoreceptors, 'and those _people_ didn't. He lied to us when we first met him, too. Said there was no-one onboard but himself.'

Hearing another whirr, Mari turned her head. 'Kayenn,' she said again, 'shut up.'

The humans simultaneously leaned back, both glancing at the other as they did. Mari wanted very much to be back where she belonged, resting on the keyboard, wallowing and throbbing and pretending the last six hours had never happened. Her fingers flexed again. _It takes a horrible situation_, she mused, _to make you really appreciate a bad one._

Standing between Crispin and KN-11, she found herself missing her husband. He was a lousy excuse for a man whose mere memory enraged her several times daily, but he'd had a way of calming her down. That thing he did with his hand on her head, and that weird, intense smile that he had thought was endearing. She was always going to miss that.

Imperial Centre seemed like a nice place, in those days. They would go out and find the nice bits between the bright, flashing billboards. Their favourite park, the Galactic Zoo, the Opera that one time. They seemed to have so much time to spend back then. The city was fun for them, distracting. Quiet and empty space seemed like such a waste. Now they were what she lived for.

That was largely thanks to his suddenly very important work in the ethnic neighbourhoods, and that _schutta_ whose name she had made herself forget. The vapid-looking girl with the bright green skin. He took pity on the aliens' plight, and after a while he noticed their exotic looks, too. Unable to stop thinking of his hand wrapped around the girl's head-tails, she had cut her hair short that same night. She knew her reason was silly, but she had kept it short ever since.

'Where are we going?' Cris was asking. It took a moment for Mari to attend to the words and understand them.

'Oh. Serroco.'

'Then?'

She blinked. 'I don't know. We should probably not go to Serocco, actually. We need to get away from the Empire. At least for now. I really don't know.'

'Might I be dropped at the nearest safe starport?' KN-11 interjected. 'I cannot imagine your eventual plans will incorporate a protocol droid.'

'I'm sure they won't,' Mari answered without looking.

'And if they did, it wouldn't be you,' Cris growled.

She didn't react. It was true. 'Where will you go, by the way?'

'To the Rebellion, of course. I have my orders.'

Mari nodded, not wanting to think about that. Anywhere would do. They didn't owe him any favours. But what starport was safe for her and Cris, now? Idly, she listed the names of reachable planets in her head. She knew lots, and had delivered to most of them. She was as seasoned a traveller as the galaxy knew, but only now did it occur to her how little she actually knew about any world but her own. Her knowledge extended only to the Gen VL docks, her ship, deep space and a lot of ports. They would need somewhere away from the officials, just to make-do as their first stop. Somewhere to refuel and buy food. After that, she just didn't know. She would think about that later.

'Where, exactly?' she asked KN-11.

'There is a headquarters, madam, whose location is kept secret I'm afraid.'

'Dantooine?' Crispin asked coolly. The droid simply looked at him, and Crispin revelled in the silence. 'Is that where your special, secret base is? Because Bitters already told us. After we _helped_ him.'

'Yes, I'm sure he appreciates all of your help, sir.'

This time Crispin did not move to hit him. 'Want a lift?' he asked, feigning kindness.

Mari considered it. 'I want somewhere safe to land,' she said after a moment. 'These Rebels are not safe.'

'Truer words were never spoken,' KN-11 added, talking to himself.

'Bitters asked you to bring the lightsaber home,' the boy said, solemn.

'Did he? I don't know what he said, Cris!' It felt bad to lie to him, but she needed reasons to say no. 'I was barely sensible. I don't know what he said.' She ran out of things to say so she turned to the truth. 'I really don't know what I'm doing here.'

'You know deliveries. You're the best delivery pilot there is.'

'Crispin, a domesticated monkey-lizard could do what I do. I hyperspace through trade routes, I land, and I carry plasteel boxes. _You_ could do this job, if you put your mind to it.'

'Let's finish the delivery,' he said, arching an eyebrow as if he had said something terribly clever.

After a while she had been persuaded, and Mari and Crispin both allowed themselves a little rest. Mari returned to the cockpit and waited for the jump out of hyperspace, and the reassuring blanket black of outer space.

With a surge of energy, she began altering their rate and angle of deceleration, switching engines and searching for communication channels. Finding any trace of civilisation on the planet was difficult, especially with her minimal resources and experience. Eventually, KN-11 shuffled in and told her a deliberately complex comm frequency code.

'Shuttle I-LO_, you are not recognised by Khoonda Plains docking? Please state your business,_' said a husky male voice, very quickly as if he had been prepared for the call.

'We, uh…' Mari started. 'We're an independent ship. Ignore the markings. Looking for, ah…' she looked across at KN-11 and tilted her head. If he were a human he might have nodded encouragingly, but he just stared.

The planet below her looked deceptively peaceful. The small globe was coloured in thick splashes and blots of blue, brown and olive-green, and was framed by two little moons. From this height it looked untouched.

'We have a something for you,' she stumbled. 'Delivery from the _Drunk Dancer_.'

This time the operator waited a moment before replying. '_Khoonda docking authority has no record of any ship by that name, _Shuttle I-LO._ Seems to be some mistake. We don't contract unofficial supply ships. Please turn around, you are not on our trade list…_'

From behind her, the droid interrupted. 'Dantooine base, this is an escape craft from the _Drunk Dancer's_ expedition to Alderaan, requesting landing permission. The two pilots are friendly but should be restricted to docking areas and kept under supervision in accordance with regulations.'

'_I… huh?_'

Mari was starting to think they had the wrong place. There were likely several scattered settlements; Crispin had told her this was an isolated world ideal for farmers who liked elbow-room and knew how to fell a kinrath spider.

KN-11 leaned in closer, over Mari's shoulder. 'Master Nate, you unbelievable cretin,' he snapped. All eyes were on him as he continued. 'How in heavens' name you acquired this post is quite beyond me. In any case, it should be quite obvious to you that these people _know_ who you are. Even if they do mean you harm, which I have already told you they do not, then your best course would be to bring them in for questioning! Now will you _please_ transfer landing clearance?'

For a period, the speaker emitted static. It sounded like there was a panicked conversation in the far background.

The voice returned. '_Kayenn?_'

'For the love of the maker… yes, master Nate. This is Kayenn Eleven. My ID signature is right next to the ship's in the little box to your left. It is underlined.'

Over the comm, the voice swore. 'Welcome back, Kayenn. Allocating space.'

'No rush, sir.'

The landing instructions came, fumbled at first, then crisp and military once Nate regained his composure. Once Mari's voice returned to the conversation, he almost sounded threatening. Eventually they made their way into the clean, morning atmosphere and sailed calmly through blue skies, guided carefully to a flat region marked only as 'Knooda Plains settlement.'

Cris, who had been silent, was still looking at the communicator. He now wore a cute little waistcoat which he had presumably been dancing in back home. 'So…' he muttered. 'IT never called, to bring us in? Did anyone call?'

Very quickly, Mari made a decision. 'Your father,' she said.

'Dad? Well, why didn't you tell me?' His voice wasn't accusing but curious.

'It was just a message, and it came with an instruction to delete it right away.'

'Just a message?' He seemed disheartened. 'What did it say?'

Her arm stretched out awkwardly onto his neck, her fingers resting behind it. 'It just said _run_. And that they love you.'

'Okay.'

'Okay. Get the landing gear ready.'


	6. Hidden Fortress

_Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, Lord Vader. Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes, or given you clairvoyance enough to find the Rebels' hidden fortress.

* * *

_

Strolling through an uncultivated green field, Mari found she had difficulty walking on the soft clay. She couldn't even remember the last time her boots had stood on anything more yielding than hydrofoamed permacrete, and was simply not used to the extra leg work.

An irregular, completely natural breeze blew at her face, playfully hitting her skin and pulling strands of her hair like an impatient child. The big sky surrounding the scene lent its rich blue to the little stream near her feet, which ebbed noisily beneath a stone bridge. Even a flock of birds settled on the trees in the distance, squawking and chittering in a panic. No-one but Mari seemed to notice them.

Morning on Dantooine was bizarre, but pleasant. Her arm had been treated and new bacta had been applied. Now she wore only a bandage on it, though keeping her elbow straight was still an inconvenience.

There were a few Rebel personnel wandering around outdoors, all looking busy. They had no uniform to speak of, though Mari had seen a very rough orange flight suit more than once. KN-11, waddling alongside her and easily matching her pained pace, was by far the most impressive man-made construction in plain sight.

The droid had been assigned the job of 'escorting' her whilst the base's leaders decided what to do with her and Crispin. The night had been less enjoyable, spent with numerous officer-types who glared and muttered amongst themselves in corners of rooms. Eventually the unwelcome guests had been fed and left in a sparse dormitory inside the base. Sleep came easily to Crispin, but Mari always had difficulty resting on land. Eventually sheer exhaustion and clean air won her over, and she had awoken in her own time.

The visitors had been told little, but it was clear there were arguments high-up about whether or not to let them go. Mari had pieced together the argument by attending to whispers. There was talk of 'the admirals' and 'the senators' and most baffling, what sounded like 'Her Highness'.

A way behind her lay the secret Rebel base. It was a wide and circular structure, unimpressive even despite the millennia of weathering. The complex was short, aside from some stumpy towers protruding from it, but it tunnelled deep underground. That made sense, she thought. When the Empire eventually located this place, they would likely bombard the Rebels from above. It was not custom-built, however. The lower levels had always been there. The stone was crumbled at the edges, sickly green creepers had taken hold of most of the walls, and smoothed-down craters spoke of ancient battles.

Crispin had told her that this had been a Jedi academy, in the earliest days of recorded history, long before the Ruusan Reformations. There was nothing here to confirm or deny his claim; aside from the subterranean structure, the complex was very ordinary and unassuming. The Rebels had hastily put up some new prefabricated buildings behind it to house their ships, but these too looked like abandoned farmsteads at first glance.

Mari could think of worse places to be a prisoner, if that's what she was, but she had already learned that the Alliance to Restore the Republic attracted stormtroopers far too easily. She decided that these men were not used to holding civilians, as there had been sympathetic looks cast her way throughout the night. It was hard to blame them for everything that had happened to her, but it was do-able.

.

'So why that design? What does it mean?'

Crispin was busy, below ground, analysing every detail of the Rebel hideout and questioning his escort thoroughly. Now he watched a young woman with a sniper rifle at her back, painting a large, red insignia on a wall. It was striking, but a mystery to him: a near circle, thinning at either end into points and with a branching spire rising in the middle. He had seen the image all over the enclave, painted and printed on everything from helmets to supply crates to the official papers he had tried to read in the docking facilities.

'Depends who you ask…' Thex answered quietly, almost reverentially. 'Symbology isn't exactly my field. It's been around a while in one form or another, but we call it the Starbird. Some say it's s'posed to be a phoenix, you know, rising back. Others think the part in the middle is a Jedi's lightsaber. The Alliance picked the crest up pretty recently. It's part of what united the rebel factions.'

Crispin just listened carefully, filing away everything he heard in his memories. He had always found the whispered tales of the Rebellion both fascinating and inspiring. Now he hoped to pick up a few tales of his own. The night before, his spirits had been as low as he could ever remember, but now he was _alive_. This was like some marvellous field trip. A guided tour of the finest Old Republic museum in the galaxy.

And Thex Garroman was a great guide. Somewhere in his thirties but not quite looking like it, he spoke with clear, undisguised pride and a charming bass Outer Rim accent. His hair was deep, black and shaggy, cut shorter than most he had seen here, but complimented by a thick layer of dark bristles which set it off nicely. He was dressed a little scruffy, but almost everyone here was, and it suited them. The Starbird was high up on the sleeve of his shirt, and in every word he spoke. He was, Crispin fancied, the quintessential Rebel.

Something occurred to Crispin as he replayed Thex's words in his head. 'Why do we think it's a lightsaber? It's red, and it's not the right shape. More like a club.'

Cris heard the armed painter let out a chuckle, amused by the exchange. Thex either didn't hear or didn't care. 'Let's just say, the Alliance is inspired by the Jedi knights. They're a symbol to us. And we're proud to carry on their traditions.'

'Do you believe the theory that they weren't really traitors? That Emperor Palpatine just had them killed?'

Thex smiled, giving an almost imperceptible nod. 'Son,' he said, 'you ought to be too young to have opinions on the Jedi purge. But you're absolutely right.'

'Assassination, is what it was,' said the painter, turning around to reveal a long nose beneath her armoured hat. 'The knights didn't even take well to serving in the Wars. They weren't out to take the Senate! Palpatine was. No _believe_ about it, take it from us.'

Crispin grinned. Though he had found little evidence in the records, he had always felt the same way. Hearing the words from a voice that wasn't his own felt good.

'It's true,' Thex said. 'They were murdered by Vader and the clones. I think they were just too good to live in these times.'

'There _were_ survivors,' the woman said, angry about something. 'I don't think there are any left now.'

'Who survived?' Cris asked immediately. To him, the dead traitor-knights were like sports heroes. He knew the names of every one who fought in the Clone Wars, but didn't know what had happened to any in the end, save Anakin Skywalker of course. He had been the greatest of them; the quickest pilot and the finest blade. Everyone in the Core knew about his death. He was overwhelmed and cut down at the gates of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He died, not scheming against the Emperor, but guarding the people within. It was the only generally accepted story where the Jedi were the good guys.

Crispin didn't live far from the spot, although the Temple wasn't there anymore. Watching the site being repurposed, as a child, he had asked his mother what used to be there. She had told him, and he'd had so many questions. Despite her best efforts, she answered them all eventually. Soon he was obsessed with the Clone Wars adventures. These were rousing stories of self-sacrificing men in beards, and women and beautiful aliens from every world, all clad in the same humble robes. Stories of supernatural powers and impossible starfighter stunts. Swords made of pure light, single-handedly holding back waves of blaster bolts. Duels against droids, warlords and wizards.

They were ridiculous. Kids' stuff. But wonderfully, no matter what the officials said, they were all true. He knew it.

Even now, when he had time, he liked to sit on a certain public bench outside what had been the Temple. There he would sit, quiet and still for a change, and watch the Skywalker's last stand replayed in his mind's eye. The death of the Order's brightest star.

'Nobody famous made it out,' Thex said, grunting very quietly. 'Hell, kid, you'd make a great interrogator! Weren't we supposed to be quiet around you?'

'Sorry.' He was still grinning. It felt so good to have a conversation about the Jedi that lasted more than a few seconds. On Imperial Centre, their very name was taboo, so his studies were a solitary hobby. Over a decade and a half of repression, the people had simply let go of their memories. His mother often pretended not to recognise the names when he spoke them. She must have really regretted telling him about the Temple.

Now, especially.

Perhaps it was just easier to forget the good things that had been lost. Crispin had been a baby when the Old Republic finally fell. To him it really _was_ a lifetime ago. Everyone else in the galaxy just acted like it.

'Is this place the same site as the old Jedi Enclave?' he asked Thex.

The woman with the paint gave up now, setting her brush down. 'How d'you know about _that?_'

'I have access to Imp Academy archives,' he said. She wasn't bad-looking, he noticed, and he flashed her his best smile. 'And I like history.'

'Yep,' Thex said. 'We're pretty sure this is the monastery. We had to do some serious reconstruction work, though. It had been left alone for a long time.' He regarded the walls as he spoke, his voice faint. 'I don't know whether we're keeping the old place alive, or just not letting it rest.'

'How long have you been with the Alliance?'

The woman turned back again, and Crispin struggled briefly with the choice of trying to flirt or continuing his lesson. The struggle ended quickly when Thex gestured with his hand, and the two strolled through to the end of the corridor. There was no door at the end, just a long-ago-blasted space leading to an open-air courtyard.

'Longer than most,' he said. 'I helped restore this place, and I've been on my share of missions, if that's what you're asking. But I feel more like a janitor than a freedom fighter, to be honest. Day to day, I work on the ships, you know, deal with salvage and supplying. And the droids. I understand you rescued my Kayenn Eleven.'

'Yeah,' Crispin answered. He was with us on the _Drunk Dancer_.'

'Yeah,' Thex said back, elongating the syllable. The name of the ship seemed to knock the wind out of him, leaving him looking very empty for a few moments. 'I was damn sorry to hear about her crew. Starstone and Bitters were real good people, and they took good people with them. Such a little mission. They died for nothing. And now we have you and your… mother?'

'Co-pilot. Well, pilot. I'm her co-pilot, technically.'

'We have the two of you stranded here.'

They entered the courtyard, or what was left of it. It had been a wide, circular path, built around a cluster of trees on a large, raised, terracotta bed. Now there were only stumps and rocks, surrounded by broken tiles and long grass on a dirt-track. Another layer of the circle was accounted for by a continuous, once-white built-up trough, which now held a stagnant trickle of rainwater. If Thex saw himself as a janitor then he wasn't good at his job.

Examining the place, Crispin assumed the Rebels were deliberately keeping the ruins ruined. And in a way it was nice. It made for a bit of a change. Back home, no structure would be allowed to look like this.

'Well,' said Thex, nodding his head to the furthest of the three exits. 'Speak of the devil.' Crispin turned his head to see KN-11 and Mari entering, though the robot was rather more quiet than Thex, and Mari was rather less animated than himself.

Sighing, she descended, sitting herself on a little groove hewn into the centre. She smiled meekly to Crispin, which he took as an invitation to join them.

'How do you like Dantooine?' he asked from a distance, slightly turning the head of another young man passing by.

Mari looked around, as if appraising the planet. 'It… it's different. It's been some time since I saw wild flowers.' Somewhere behind her head she heard a reedy warbling sound, and spun quickly. 'Or animals,' she added when she had calmed down. Crispin could sympathise. He too had been constantly surprised by calls and chirps, and the always-alarming sight of insects flying past his face.

'Greetings, Captain Garroman,' KN-11 said, emotionless. Thex only nodded for a reply.

'My droid has been looking after you?'

'Yes,' Mari replied.

'You have my condolences. I hope he didn't depress you too much. We've had quite an interesting time of it, over here. Your co-pilot was just quizzing me on the planet's Jedi history!'

Crispin saw Mari wince a little, apparently embarrassed. She had always listened to his Old Republic talk, and the Jedi talk too. Not just because she tolerated it, he loved talking it over with her. She said little and, like all Imperial subjects, gave no opinions, but she understood him. She often sounded as if she missed those days. Crispin would never dare say so, but he loved that she was old enough to remember them. His recovered lore was her childhood and early twenties. One day he would get her to tell him some of her tales.

'No,' Thex added, reacting to her face. 'I'm happy to talk about it. We still revere the Order, here. We feel a certain kinship.'

'Captain Bitters,' Mari said quietly, 'mentioned them.' Watching Thex's solemn reaction, she slowly added, 'his last words were the Jedi motto.'

'May the Force be with you,' Thex said, nodding. 'I'm not surprised. His ideals never faltered, not 'till the end, apparently.'

Crispin had noticed Bitters' choice of words too. He had read that the phrase had always been with the Jedi, acting as the Order's battle cry in times of war, and their personal solace in peace. It had surprised Crispin to hear it spoken aloud on that broken starship.

His hands behind his back, Thex looked at the sky for a second. When he looked back down he was like a different man. His skin seemed paler without the sun on it, and his voice was flat. None of the bombast, no depth to it anymore. 'If the Force was with any of us, it was with Bitters.' Almost apologetically he smiled at the others. 'It's with this place. Strengthens us.'

Crispin felt relaxed by the mere thought of it, until Mari spoke.

'I don't believe in the Force.'

That didn't make sense. He looked at her, his eyebrows low and questioning. He knew that not many people did believe in the Force, and those who did were hardly passionate about it. It was regarded as either naïve superstition or a vague and insignificant oddity, beyond understanding and care. It had never made sense to Crispin, such massive-scale ignorance. It didn't make _sense_ that Mari felt that way too. It was the _Force_. She had never said anything.

'What do you mean, you don't believe in the Force?'

She shrugged. 'Sorry,' she said, and to Thex, 'I don't mean to offend you. I just don't believe in that sort of thing.'

'How? How can you not believe it? You were there! You've seen the Jedi!'

Mari shuffled in the little groove. 'Well, no, Cris, I wasn't _there_.' She seemed a little angry, but Crispin barely registered it. 'I was neither a soldier nor a criminal. I never met any knights.'

'The Temple!' he cried, incredulous.

'It was closed to the public,' she replied. 'I still wonder what they did in there. Don't get me wrong, the Jedi did a lot of good before they turned nasty.' Her abrasiveness faded away on the last word, and she looked Crispin in the eyes. '_If_ they turned nasty. The fact is, they won the Wars for us. They were brilliant swordsmen and good generals. They were good police before that, too. And good diplomats. But they were crazy, nonetheless.' She almost laughed. 'I just don't believe what they told us they could do. I think maybe _they_ believed it, though.'

This didn't make sense. This wasn't Mari. Was this what she had been holding back during the long lectures he delivered to her, in the safety of deep space? All the time he had regaled her with stories of Jedi heroism, she was thinking this? To her mind the Jedi were either liars or fools, but good-hearted liars or fools at least. That was the worst part, the way she tried to sweeten her impression of them as an afterthought.

Thex was listening calmly, his arms folded. 'Just because we can't see it doesn't mean it's not there.'

'Indeed,' said KN-11. All eyes turned to the new speaker, hearing the aggressive tone, the tone Mari had been suppressing and Thex had lost. 'The Jedi assured your people that the Force bound and defined the universe, but that only _they_ had any sense of it. Frankly,' he went on, 'I quite agree with Ms Dalto. After spending so much time here with you and your soldiers, sir, it is quite a refreshing outlook.'

Crispin inhaled loudly, staring hatefully at the droid. It was one thing for Mari to surprise him, but another for the damn droid to start rubbishing his ideals.

'The Jedi, Kayenn,' said Thex, 'were heroes. Down to the last of them. You wouldn't understand.'

'I certainly cannot understand how they acquired such a reputation, given their track record.'

'They were protectors,' Crispin said. 'They saved the Republic time and time again.'

The droid's head clicked, turning to him. 'And from whom?' he asked, simply. 'Before its eventual collapse, the Galactic Republic was brought to the brink of destruction by Jedi infighting on numerous occasions. Hundreds of full-scale wars were waged against the Core Worlds, and in ninety percent of cases the aggressors were led by Jedi knights, or former Jedi knights. Time and time again, as you put it.'

'Those wars ended,' Thex replied, instantly but with great sadness. 'A millennium ago, at the Battle of Ruusan.'

'This, sir, was the battle after which the Jedi Army of Light was forcibly disbanded? Named for the planet forever ruined by their war?'

Crispin hated that voice. Droid voices were supposed to be placating and charmless. This one had the same, instantly-recognisable synthesis box but he sounded completely different, simply via the addition of sarcasm.

But he was right about Ruusan. The war between the Jedi and Sith armies had corrupted it completely. Now it wasn't even on the starcharts. And he could name other planets too, destroyed in other wars.

'They _were_ heroes,' Mari said, leaning back into the raised ground at her back. 'I was only trying to say that I don't believe in their Force. I don't even know what it's supposed to be, exactly.'

'A non-specific deity or destiny, reminiscent of ancient folklore definitions of "magic". The Force is supposedly a naturally-occurring element or field, possibly sentient and possibly not, depending on which Jedi source one consults. It is omnipresent in all atmospheres and empty space, and supposedly allows those gifted with its use such varied skills as telekinesis, mind-control and the ability to predict the future. I can understand why the Alliance would wish for it to be on their side.'

Mari scowled now, finding herself agreeing. 'I always find the idea of the Force too vague,' she said to Thex. 'You know what I mean? It's just _the_ Force. Sounds… made-up.'

Now Crispin downright yelled at her. 'But you've _seen_ them use it, Mari! You must have!'

'Crispin, I saw _vids_, on the Senate-controlled news, of people apparently levitating objects, waving their fingers about or jumping very high in battle. It wasn't all that convincing! I've seen better stuff on other shows. And I think we were all suspicious when the holonet told us that Dooku could shoot lightning out of his fingers. We never saw any vids of that! I'm _sorry_, and I wish I'd never bloody mentioned this. I know the Jedi mean a lot to you. They did to all of us, and–'

'Ah yes,' said KN-11, synthesising human memory recall in a moment of genuine facetiousness. 'Jedi Master Dooku. Ninety-one percent, thank you madam.'

'Kayenn,' she said for the third time in the last twenty-four hours, '_shut up._'

'He's just agreeing with you,' Crispin said.

'I know. That's why I want him to shut up.'

Energy welled-up in Crispin's fists and feet, urging him to either storm out or punch the droid. Neither seemed appropriate, so he stood his ground and just watched KN-11 enjoying his victory. Perhaps Crispin or Thex should have spoken up at that moment, to clarify the distinction between Jedi and Sith, or list examples of historically accepted feats of Force power. Neither of them did, and everyone but the droid was glad of it.

Mari's eyes were closed now. Her head rested back against the crumbled stone and sunlight warmed her face. She was frowning as if she were hurt. She had a habit of looking angry when in pain.

'Let's just change the subject, please,' she said. Crispin just shook his head. A slight cough from Thex made him feel awfully childish all of a sudden.

'Take our word for it,' said Thex, sounding bold and true, like the man who been with him all day. 'The Force is very real. One or two of the people here really have seen it at work.' Crispin barely nodded. He didn't need proof. 'And we all know that it's strong in this place. It holds us together, and it fights with us.'

'Fine,' said Mari. 'I hope you're right.'

She was full of it. Crispin could hear in her voice that she was just lying to herself, just like everyone. It saddened him to hear it, as much as anything that had happened to him since leaving home. He had only ever really spoken with her onboard her ship. Here she was just... weak.

But he couldn't shake the notion that maybe the droid was on to something.

For a thousand generations, the Jedi knights had protected the Republic. But to do it, they had waged a thousand wars. They had lost a thousand protégées to evil and left their ruined fortresses on a thousand worlds. He'd read about every one, pored over the surviving reports as if they were cheap holos.

A thousand epic lightsaber duels, fought to decide the future on everyone else's behalf. The will of the Force.

Whatever that was.


	7. Take Care

_All right. Well take care of yourself, Han. I guess that's what you're best at, isn't it?  


* * *

_

Dantooine's unregulated wind was still giving Mari a lot of trouble. She squinted to guard against airborne bugs and dust as she stared, stony-faced, listening to a lecture on 'gravity-slices' from someone who appeared to be half-man and half-fish.

The creature was shorter than the average human, dressed in a one-piece flight suit and looking at her with enormous eyes that stuck out sideways from either side of its head. In evolutionary theory, she understood this meant he was descended from prey rather than predator. And, evidently, these ancestors had lived underwater. His skin was rough and deep brown, the colour of varnished wood, and his voice was thick and gruff. His mouth was nearly as wide as his face and seemed to be permanently stretched into a smirk, which had made him seem funny once the shock had worn off.

He was a member of the Rebel Alliance and he liked to talk. Thrilled to meet a newcomer, he had been prattling about gravity-slices, 'gravity wells' and 'shadow-generators' for over ten minutes now. Mari had not said a word other than 'hello'. This had been chiefly because of the fish-man's appearance, but it was also because she hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about.

Mari had considered herself a decent pilot and a bit of a gear-head until meeting the young, enthusiastic and proud soldiers of the Rebellion. For the most part they were kids, poor kids who laughed and flirted and jogged from place to place. Each one who encountered had beamed a smile at her and introduced themselves. It was depressing. This one's name was Zaltharis. He had given the name of his species, but she hadn't understood him.

Night was drawing in, now. As she gave up trying to follow the alien's conversation, settling for nods and approving grunts, she worried about Crispin. After the argument that morning he had stormed off with the man guarding him, Thex or whatever his name had been. Her own protector, KN-11, had vanished shortly after that too. She wondered if she had fallen out of the droid's favour. In any case the evening had been pleasant, without anything to do or any of KN's sarcastic comments to listen to.

Cris had taken her opinions on the Force badly, and she had spent an hour looking for him so that she could apologise properly. Eventually it had dawned on her that he was purposefully avoiding her, and she had decided to leave him alone. No doubt poor Thex was now listening to all of the angry tirades he was preparing for her.

When he came back to yell at her, Mari would listen. She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings like that. For the rest of the day, she had been acutely aware of the lightsaber stashed awkwardly in her belt, under the folds of her jacket. She still hadn't given it to anyone. Maybe Cris ought to have it himself.

It would be symbolic, she hoped.

Zaltharis quietened a bit, and wrapped the speech up. 'Of course that's assuming,' he gargled from the back of his big throat, 'that we can get hold of some of that stuff before we need it. Anyway. It was my pleasure. May the Force be with you.'

.

'The _ultimate_ weapon,' Wilhuff Tarkin had once said to Raith Seinar, 'is the weapon that does its job in the first shot. Once you have ensured your enemy cannot reciprocate, _then_ you have no need of further weaponry.'

Raith had nodded smugly, not quite understanding but not wanting to appear beaten, and left the room. A week later he had returned, unexpected, carrying the plans to his 'Mobile Attack Star', what he had earlier been bold enough to call his 'ultimate' terror weapon. An impromptu presentation began, with Tarkin criticising where he could, and disguising envy where he could not. Impressed by the giant battle station's designs but left frustrated by its scope, he began offering his friend suggestions for additional features.

That had been almost two decades ago. In that time, the building work had proceeded as fast as was possible, but it was a monumental effort. Tarkin was an old man, now, and amongst the highest eschelon of the Empire in his own right. His Highness had been kind, supplying the pair with funds, engineers and slaves, but it had taken a long time. Now, finally, the work was finished, and Tarkin sat in his private office at the top of the Command sector, sipping tepid sozhang and surveying reports. The bulk of the administrators were already pouring into the structure, and another battalion of troopers was en-route.

Seinar had been driven off the project many years ago, which was very much in the station's best interests. The Empire believed good leadership came from a single, strong source, and there was no sense occupying two of the Palace's best men with one command. There had been no contest; Raith never did fully comprehend the potential of the weapon. It had been Tarkin's superlaser that had defined it, and his Doctrine that had inspired it.

Yesterday the station had hosted its first executions. Within a year it would be completely armed and ready.

There was no ceremony to celebrate the completion. There were no handshakes or proud speeches. Alone behind his desk, its tired mastermind did not allow himself a smile. His back was a little slouched, but his expression remained rigid. The weapon was built, but had nowhere to aim.

There was nothing to smile about.

The interception of the Rebel ship had achieved little, but there was still that one curious loose end, Mari Dalto. The arrival of a conspicuous, clearly-marked civilian shuttle had not been a part of his plans. Perhaps this was why the shuttle's crew had survived the surprise second attack and escaped the scene. Within ten minutes of learning this, Tarkin had discovered the names of the two staff pilots scheduled to be onboard this S_huttle I-LO_, and confirmed that they had left Imperial Centre in its cockpit. Within half an hour he was surrounded by flimsi sheets and on-screen readouts, containing everything he needed to know about the pair.

Now that he had had the time to completely familiarise himself with Mari Dalto and Crispin Koryan's histories, he was still no nearer to locating them. His men had set up discrete but impassable checks at every starport either on an Imperial world, or small enough to be intimidated. But so far, nothing. Either Dalto was still adrift in space, or she had docked somewhere the Empire didn't yet know about. Tarkin imagined that this woman was either a superbly-skilled Rebel spy, or a fool. Either she had failed a rescue but made an impressive escape, or she had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Dalto lived alone in an unremarkable, small accommodation which had been searched comprehensively. It was found nearly empty and sparsely-decorated, lived-in but barely. Like Tarkin himself, she had been doing one job for most of her life, and was apparently dedicated to it. In her case, the job was less grand: simply flying packages and recorded-delivery letters between ports. Her employers said she was good at it, but that she was quiet almost to the point of being anti-social. Only one co-worker, Jinda Telath, had had more than a few words and shrug to give to the investigating officers. Telath had seemed to actively dislike Dalto, but her rambling reports did not extend beyond petty workplace disputes. She had been unable to offer any real insight into the suspect's life or personality, despite the strength of her opinions.

There was almost no-one to question, and Ms. Telath had actually been the most helpful lead until Commander Acys' men had located Dalto's estranged husband. John Dalto was a curious fellow, a human who lived among the Twi'leks and Iridonians of a small ethnic neighbourhood. His appearance was shabby and uncouth, and he had been somewhat resistant to questioning. Immediate imprisonment had made him more co-operative, though it had apparently taken rather more to make him talk about his marriage.

The prisoner's testimony now filled the neat pile of readouts closest to Tarkin's thin hand. This John Dalto had been an architectural consultant and sector planner in the capital, reasonably well-paid and for the most part ordinary. There were dull, repetitive records of their shared lives, none of which turned up anything useful. The marriage had lasted twelve years, after which Mister Dalto had developed his interest in the ethnics. No agreeable terms had been set out for the proposed divorce, apparently due to the wife's insisting on his infidelity as a causal factor. When pressed by the magistrate, she had refused to name the supposed third party, and eventually the whole business had been dropped. That, sadly, was as much as he knew. After a few weeks of legal complications, she had broken off all contact with her spouse.

And then, Mari Dalto had stopped making any sorts of waves at all. Not even ordinary ones, not even ripples. From that day to this, as far as her background check was concerned, she had flown her ship efficiently and speedily, delivered her parcels, and come home to her apartment. No contact with her husband or his aliens, no more trouble with the Judicial office, not even a sick day.

Considering the strange situation in which they had found her husband, and her surprise appearance at the interception mission, her story just seemed… too ordinary.

As for the co-pilot, there was a wealth of information. Thorough interviews with the boy's parents had been conducted quickly, and his tutors and classmates were being questioned today. Every one of these witnesses knew that his or her future depended on honesty, so Tarkin did not doubt the near-identical reports. Young master Koryan was well-liked and was an impressive if lazy scholar. He was repeatedly described as 'bright', 'nice' and 'talkative', and the word 'rebellious' had appeared once or twice, always highlighted by Acys' men. Tarkin had dismissed this, along with most of what he had read. This lad simply did not fit the profile of an Alliance agent, much less a double-agent. Tarkin wondered if perhaps he had been dragged along to the Rebel ship without his consent, even kidnapped. His family was influential after all, and certainly wealthy.

It mattered little. This woman would have to be found. She would slip up again. The subsequent interrogation would reveal her true past, and what had brought her to that broken ship.

If his suspicions were correct, she would tell him a lot more than that. She would tell him where she had fled to. The location of the Rebel base. If she didn't, there was still one more lead. One of them would give him what he sought.

And then perhaps Tarkin would let himself smile, in the last moment of fear, an instant before the ultimate weapon took its first shot.

.

The base was pretty small, only extending a little beyond the old Jedi enclave. Mari had to wonder where Crispin had actually gone, to avoid her so well. Now, on this strange world, she found herself feeling awfully alone. Setting off at a pace, she headed to the sleeping quarters they had been assigned, finding them empty and undisturbed. Assuming he would show up eventually, she lay back against the wall and just waited.

He was probably still exploring, poking his nose into every detail of the Rebel operations. He was considering joining them, she knew it. Crispin was an open book, and Mari could read even between the lines. He wanted to sign-up with the Alliance. He had always wanted to fly, though she hadn't often let him. And he had always wanted to make his own destiny, but his parents always quashed that easily.

The boy's life was about to change so much, and it almost seemed like he was glad of it. He was unsatisfied with the future he had to look forward to on Imperial Centre, and why shouldn't he be, really? It was a cold, grey, nasty future. Much better than most would get, but he would end up in a uniform. His exuberance and joy would be beaten and threatened out of him.

Now he saw himself in one of those orange coveralls, with a blaster hanging loosely at his side. He imagined himself robbing Imperial caravans, escaping TIE fighters in a beat-up but trusty starship, rescuing prisoners. No, he would be dreaming much bigger than that. Crispin wanted a proper hero's journey. Right now in his head, he would be leading battles, defeating the Emperor's finest guards in single combat and freeing whole planets from His rule.

Mari just saw him on the floor of a broken starship, fresh blaster holes in his chest and babbling about the Force with last breath.

And eventually, all the Rebels would end up just the same. It just wasn't going to happen. People like Crispin couldn't just leave home and become legends.

It would not be easy to convince him to leave.

Mari was all he had now, and she was going to look after him. She didn't know what the Rebel command were planning to do with them, but as soon as they were free, they were going somewhere safe. They would start again, run away from this place if they had to. They'd come up with some false names, maybe she could pose as his mother, and they'd fly as far away from the Core as they could.

It sounded pretty good to her. With her back against the hard wooden wall, she closed her eyes and waited for him to arrive.

.

Tarkin's slender right arm reached slowly for the red, circular button on his desk. He had insisted against motion-sensors or voice activation in his office. He had never been a man to indulge himself in home comforts, but he did prefer to push buttons.

Commander Acys appeared, once again, as a small hologram at the centre of the desk. Frankly, Tarkin was sick of the sight of the man.

'Yes?' he asked, expressionless as always.

'_We have another message, Governor. From our… man amongst the Rebels._'

This perked the Grand Moff up a little. He felt his fingers tightening as he leaned-in a couple of inches. 'Oh?' he asked. 'What does he say this time?'

There was no need to clarify. Tarkin placed a great deal of hope in the man Acys spoke of. His identity was not known to the Empire, but Tarkin had the measure of him. Whoever he was, he was weak. The contact was a member of the Alliance, apparently one privy to sensitive information, and he knew he was on the losing side. Whatever nonsensical ideals drove and inspired the rest of the Rebellion had died inside this one. He had come to his senses, and knew his only chance to survive the Rebellion's extermination was to leave them.

The Empire had lost more than a few of its soldiers and a couple of its officers to the Alliance. None of these traitors were terribly high-profile. Tarkin's actions at the so-called Ghorman Massacre had led to the first defections, but had also earned him a promotion.

But this was the first time one of the Rebels had defected to the _Empire_. The early messages from the mysterious agent had immediately fascinated Tarkin. He had taken great care to conceal his identity and his voice, and had simply been establishing communication, trying to judge how he would be received. Curious, Tarkin had ordered the messages relayed to himself, and his men had encouraged the shy fellow.

With vague promises of a pardon, the agent had been convinced to earn a place in the Empire by handing over information. Of course, the man was yet to give them the location of the base, knowing that it would make him unnecessary. He was shrewd, this man. Sensible.

Eventually the agent had been persuaded to give names of Rebel sympathisers. Those who he fingered were captured, but sadly none of them had known enough. The agent was choosing his sacrifices carefully. It was he who had given Tarkin the co-ordinates of the ship they had destroyed. Once again, the prisoners had told him nothing, but these were no mere friends of the Alliance. These were Rebel officers. The agent was growing desperate.

'_Rather a good message this time, sir,_' said Acys. '_He says the only survivor from the ship is with him. And he names her. Mari _Dalto_. Well, well, eh?_'

Tarkin didn't respond. This was an interesting development. Perhaps the agent was finally about to make himself useful.

'And does he offer to point her out to us?' Tarkin asked, his angular chin cupped in his fingertips.

'_Even better, sir. I think he's losing patience. He says he'll deliver her personally to the_ Allecto, _provided he will be allowed to go free and in the IT ship.'_

Quite a stroke of luck. One of his leads was about to hand him the other on a plate.

'Agree,' Tarkin said simply. Tell him the _Allecto_ is docked at Imperial Centre. He must meet us in orbit, co-ordinates Treble Zero. In exchange for this valuable service, he will be granted complete protection, and a place in the Army if he wishes.'

'_I think he just wants the shuttle and his freedom,_' Acys said.

'Very well, then. Tell him he can have whatever he wishes. And make it seem as though you're grudgingly accepting the offer.'

Tarkin wondered if he had overestimated the agent's intelligence. He had finally picked the right side, but he was a fool if he believed the Empire would just let him walk away. One did not make _deals_ with absolute authority. Now he was offering to fly right into a Star Destroyer?

'_Silly bugger,_' Acys scoffed.

Tarkin switched off the communicator.

Two more prisoners, then.

.

Mari stood outside her ship, thinking that now it really was hers, as much as if ever would be. The neatly-stencilled registration, _Shuttle I-LO,_ bothered her. It was an ugly name, and altogether too Imperial. On the rare occasions she spoke to the ship, whilst pulling a tricky manoeuvre or after a long trip, she would call it _Shilo_. It was much better suited, she thought.

Maybe she would get the name burned off and replaced. After all, now that the ship was stolen, it would be sensible to disguise it. She'd need to get the signatures changed, too. Quickly. Maybe the Rebels would help with that.

The ship had been set down and hidden in a wide, lashed-together outdoor storage building. From atmosphere it looked like a barn, but the doors were thick and locked down. Two guards were posted outside, but they had let her in without much fuss.

Crispin had still failed to show up at their assigned quarters. She had enquired after him but heard no answer. After worrying about him for a straight hour, she found herself yawning more and thinking less. It had not been a physically exhausting day, but she was dead-tired despite that. Perhaps her body was still trying to deal with the previous day. Perhaps she was just getting old.

No matter how much her body ached, she found it impossible to relax in the room. It had been a long time since she had slept well on land. The hard little bed on _Shilo_ was the only place she felt truly comfortable now. So, eventually, she had forced herself to her feet and dragged those feet outside, to the makeshift hangar.

Just hearing the familiar rusted groan of the door seemed to lift a weight from her mind, and when she reached the cockpit she felt as if the last two days had never happened. Sitting in the pilot's seat, smiling to herself, she looked out at the hangar's rough durasteel walls and tried to kid herself they were the comforting vacuum of space. They seemed safe enough, in any case.

And these were good people. To a man, the silly Rebels were brave, kind and lovably foolish. Perhaps not to a droid, but to a man. She closed her eyes.

In her state of half-consciousness, she knew Cris would never come with her. He was here because he wanted to be, and he'd stay here. He would be happy.

But she had told herself she was going to look after him. So she'd stay, too.

She still had her ship.

There was a distant _sizzle_ but Mari didn't pay it much attention. She was used to sleeping on a starship, so tuning-out background noise came easily to her. When it got louder, she had forgotten it completely. When it became so loud that it was, in fact, the sound of an explosion, she opened her eyes.

The sizzle had sounded a lot like thermal paste, come to think of it. The doors in front of her were blown off and twisted from the centre. Large shards of steel were still clattering and settling on the floor. She saw the body of one of the two guards, mangled and still.

A blaster barrel silently pressed into the back of her head, pushing her thin hair aside from beneath. She breathed as evenly as she could.

'_Kayenn,_' she said quietly.


	8. Extreme Circumstances

_Surrender is a perfectly acceptable alternative in extreme circumstances!_ _The Empire may be gracious enough__ to–

* * *

_

The metal hiked upwards a touch, pushing harder into the top of Mari's neck. 'Lady,' said a laboured Outer-Rim accent, 'Kayenn can't even stretch his arms out all the way. How's he supposed to pull a gun on you?'

In her quiet, slow shock, all Mari could think was, _Yes, good point._ The protocol droid's arms were fixed to bend inwards. How had he first introduced himself? 'Personal assistance and etiquette'? He could type and carry drinks if he had to but that was probably about it. Although KN-11 used his acerbic wit like a weapon, he would have had a hard time sneaking up on her with a pistol. She would have heard his whirring joints, too.

The man behind her breathed onto her hair. That was another thing KN couldn't do. It was definitely not him.

'Don't move, or I'll shoot. The legs, I mean. I need you alive.' The voice was Thex Garroman's, though Mari didn't actually recognise him until after he had yanked her arms, the good one and the shot one, behind her and bound her wrists with shiny Mer-Sonn stun-cuffs. The sharp pain took her mind off the task of placing his voice, and she spent the next couple of minutes just doing what he said.

With practiced efficiency Thex stood her up, spun her around and jammed her to the floor, letting her legs accommodate the force of his push as best they could. She hit the thinly-ribbed surface at an odd angle and shifted herself to near-comfort, all the time looking into his eyes and wondering if she ought not to be.

And then she remembered who he was. This was the Rebel who she had seen showing Crispin around. The kind-looking one who had been with them when they argued about the Force, but had been so quiet until the end of it. The handsome one. Now his short, charming haircut looked a little too neat and his quiet demeanour came across as sinister.

Thex sat himself in Mari's chair and started to lift Mari's ship off the ground. He was still quiet, apparently concentrating on the controls.

'What are you doing?' It was the best question she could come up with. Above all her emotions, slightly below the throbbing in her arm, she felt uncomfortably lost.

'You're a fugitive. Someone in the Empire wants you pretty bad, after you escaped them on the _Drunk Dancer_.'

Nothing he had said helped her understand. 'So Kayenn betrayed the Rebels on the ship…?' she muttered. 'Your droid broadcast the ship's position to the Empire, and used us for his escape.'

Thex stopped what he was doing. _Shuttle I-LO_ had slowly made its way through the twisted hangar doors and was now making speed towards the atmosphere. 'No…' he replied, as if mocking her. 'I did that. _Droids_ just follow orders. Even if they don't like them. Kayenn hated the Alliance, but he never did a thing to harm 'em.'

Mari noticed the past tense, and wondered why she hadn't seen the droid since the argument.

'But he _was_ my droid. Guess it makes sense you'd think I was him... I suppose my personality rubbed off on him over the years. Hunh. And my attitudes. I liked him like that. In that whole monastery, Kayenn Eleven was the only honest one. He spoke his mind, when the rest of us were always too afraid. He knew there was no chance we could beat the Empire. He just looked at the world logically, and told us we were wasting our time. It was refreshing…'

Thex couldn't see her, but Mari nodded. She knew what he meant.

'I just memory-wiped him,' he added, going quiet again.

Breathing steadily now and boring her gaze into the back of Thex's head, Mari calmed down. She remembered some of the impatient, weary little barbs KN-11 had spat at her and Crispin, and felt sorry for him. The personality must have been worn into his memory core over time. Maybe with a fresh start he would be happier.

She straightened. 'Where's Crispin?'

'At the base somewhere,' Thex said, and swore. 'You made him pretty mad with your I-don't-believe-in-the-Force thing. Very tactful.'

For a moment, Mari was so happy she could have laughed. _He's okay. You can't look after him now. Just get this man away from him. He'll be all right… well, right up until the next laser-fight he gets into._

She banished the thought. Cris was alive, despite everything that had been thrown at them. She had done what she could. Wherever Thex was taking her, she wasn't going to see the lad again and that was that.

_It's over, Mari._

There was a sound from behind her, like fast, heavy drops of rain. Like Crispin's wet feet running into the cockpit from the bathroom.

_No, no, NO!_

For the next few minutes, Mari felt a tremendous weight of responsibility. She should do something. She should shut Crispin up, so Thex didn't hear him approach. When he did burst in, she should warn him to be careful, or something. She should get up and help him as his small white fists flapped around at the older man. She should _bloody kill the little idiot. What the hell is he doing here? He was in the blasted _shower _while the ship got hijacked?_

Crispin made a miserable show of fighting Thex. At first he seemed reluctant to hit him, as if not quite believing what he saw, waiting for the punchline. When he saw the blaster he launched an attack of sorts, but he was on the floor in seconds, with Thex's muddy boot between his shoulders.

Without a second pair of binders to hand, Thex made do with a wrapped-up recharge cable he found hanging above them. Mari stared straight ahead, watching the ship break atmosphere with no-one at the helm, trying to will their captor to take the yoke and hit the stabilisers. If they lost momentum at this point, it would be tricky to get the small ship back under control.

Thex took his time securing Crispin to compensate for the lad's determined but ineffectual struggling. Mari just stared through the viewscreen ahead, feeling the shuttle's deceleration through her boots. Undirected jets could only do so much at this point. Luckily, Thex understood the problem too, and he rushed back to the controls after tying Crispin's arms to the emergency storage racks above his head.

Feeling the thrusters realigning and hearing a renewed roar from them, Mari relaxed and look up at Cris. His hair was still wet and clinging to his face in big licks. He wore that thick brown bath robe of his again. At that moment, Mari hated him for going back to the ship. Of all the places he could have run away to after the argument, he had to choose the ship.

She had nothing to say that wasn't a direct insult. He, however, had plenty.

The talking began at around the same time as the jump to lightspeed, as if the familiar whine of the hyperdrive building-up power was also applying pressure to Crispin's mouth. At the jump, he started talking, and the stars themselves twisted under his vitriol.

'What the hell is going on? What the hell is… why didn't you help me? We could have fought him off, taken _Shilo_ back! The _hell_ is any of this…?'

Mari got the impression he didn't want answers. She looked him in the eyes, trying not to glare. The barrage went on for minutes, never pausing to allow an answer.

'I can't believe you let this happen. Can't believe you just let all of this happen! What the hell were you doing back here anyway?' He breathed.

'I couldn't sleep,' she replied. 'When did you get here?'

'I was in the back,' he snapped back, with anger in his voice left over from before. 'I was here all day.'

_All day? This is where he was the whole day?_ It must have been the only place she hadn't considered.

'After we ran into each other, Thex said he had some business with his damn droid. And what _is_ this, Thex? What's going on?'

There was no answer from their kidnapper, so Mari told him. 'He's selling us to the Empire. Apparently there's a price on our heads.'

Crispin seemed shocked, as if he had still been giving Thex the benefit of the doubt. 'You're with_ the Empire?_' he yelled at the front of the cockpit.

'I'm not with them and I'm not getting paid,' Thex muttered. 'Just want to be left alone. Start again.'

'What does that mean?' Crispin sputtered. 'You're a traitor? You said you were with the Rebellion from the beginning!'

'I was. So, I'm used to being called traitorous. But it doesn't mean anything. We turned on the Empire because we thought we could bring it down and bring back everything that was lost. Turns out we were kidding ourselves. Empire's gaining systems every day. We're just losing men.'

Listening to him, Mari found it hard not to nod. The Alliance to Restore the Republic was nothing but a bunch of little factions held together by purpose. Angry kids and a few stubborn idealists. A handful of good people standing against a galaxy. She understood, just like KN-11 had, just like Thex did, that it was hopeless.

She had seen the Rebellion for what it was back on the _Drunk Dancer_: a broken old ship, just waiting for the stormtroopers to come and finish it off.

'I gave a lot to the Alliance,' Thex was saying now, calm. 'We all did, and one by one we all died. You were talking about the Jedi knights before, kid. They all died, too. In _one day_.' His head rose a little higher and his voice became louder. 'And that's our inspiration, d'you see? That's whose home we're hiding in. We talk about the Force and _good and evil_ and heroes. The Force couldn't keep them alive for one damn day.'

Thex was done talking, and for once, so was Crispin. Mari tried to adjust her legs to a more comfortable position, as quietly as she could. Absently, the boy watched her.

'And you don't even think it exists,' he said to her, as quiet as she had ever heard him.

'No, I don't believe in it. But I believe in people, people like Bitters and the others. Does that count for anything?' She knew it was a pretty trite thing to say, and hearing the words made her wince a little. She wasn't even sure if she was telling him the truth. Crispin didn't react.

'I believe in you,' she said, and the words came a little easier. They still sounded cheap, but not so hollow. 'You're right in the middle of the Empire, but you're a good kid. You just have this… you don't let anything put you off. Maybe because you were born into this. You didn't have anything to lose.'

She watched him make a face at her now, disgusted but not bothering to verbalise it. His head tilted and recycled water dripped softly to the floor.

'That's pathetic,' he said to the floor. 'You're a coward.'

'I'm _forty-eight_,' Mari snapped back without thinking. 'I can't do the things you want to do.'

'Bitters was about your age.'

_And look what happened to him._ 'Cris, I was willing to stay with you on Dantooine. You have something I don't. You can actually _do_ this stuff, if you really want to. I'd like to help you, but all I can do is fly this ship and listen to you.'

Crispin was looking at something to his side, now. Mari had to make do talking to his smooth chin.

Thinking back to Bitters, she remembered that strange feeling. Watching someone dying, being his only company right at the end. She remembered staring in shock and just-about hearing him, wondering what she was supposed to do next. Most of all, she remembered envying the man. Despite everthing he looked at peace, and best of all, he was lying down.

If she had been alone, she would have happily taken his place. It would have been a nice way to go.

_You have to keep him alive. Protect him and get out the moment you can._

Looking back up at the boy hanging from the wall, she saw him close his eyes.

_Don't do that._

'I just mean,' she said, louder but shaking her head, 'you didn't have to watch the old Republic fall apart like we all did. You got… I don't know what I'm saying here.' _Say something back, Cris. Yell at me. Call me a coward again. Do something!_

'You didn't have to watch it all die,' Thex said, making her point perfectly. 'The Jedi, and the Senate, and the people's will, you know. Their will to fight back. And then the good guys, one at a time. The fight's over, son. It's done. No-one's left.' The man swallowed. 'I really am sorry you got involved in this. I didn't realise you were onboard. Thought I'd kept you safe through all this.'

'Shut up,' Mari spat, but Thex didn't mind her. She frowned hard as he kept talking. That command had worked on KN-11.

'I wanted to leave you back there. You are a good kid, she's right. But it's too late now. They'll spare your lives if you tell them what they want to know, all right?'

_Shut up._

'They probably just want one thing. They asked me so many times, but I wouldn't let them know until I was off-world. They'll want to know where we came from. Just tell 'em, Dalto. Just say "Dantooine" and let them come. Might as well end it quickly.'

Crispin's arms were slack now. He looked as if he wasn't even hearing. He stayed like that as Thex carried on yapping. Not moving, not making any sound.

_Come on Cris, I don't like you like this. Annoy me. Talk. Talk!_

'If there was an easier way I'd have used it. But the Empire… they want you, Dalto, which means they'll find you. Once they have your name, that's it. You're theirs, no point in running.'

'What exactly are they giving you?' she asked.

'Second chance. In exchange for you, alive, I get to fly away from Dantooine and never look back. Then I get to do nothing, for as long as I have left. Just work some job and forget the war. And go to bed. You know what I mean?'

Mari knew what he meant.

Thex actually shrugged, but caught himself in the middle of it. 'You just can't beat the Empire,' he said, staring straight ahead.

_Watch me,_ she tried to say, even going so far as opening her mouth. As she stood, the ship jumped out of hyperspace, placing them in orbit around a planet. The jolt, combined with the disorienting display outside, knocked her back to the ground, but Thex had not heard her. When she got back up again she was too afraid to speak, so she just charged.

Back before this mess had all started, when she had Crispin weren't wanted by the Emperor for treason, the lad had liked to tell her stories about the Jedi. He collected these tales and though he embellished them a lot, they were important to him. Cris had always held a high opinion of himself, but he spoke reverentially of the knights. It always felt strange being lectured on history by a teenager, but she didn't mind, and a part of her even liked it.

Once, in the middle of a thesis on lightsabers, he had said something she was sure he had made-up. Leaning in as if sharing a great, powerful secret, he had said, 'The reason only Jedi used the lightsaber is because only they _could_, y'see. If someone without Force sensitivity tried to fight with one, they'd be more likely to injure themselves than their enemies!' At the time Mari had just nodded, but she had immediately found the story hard to swallow. The lightsaber was just a straight beam of plasma coming out of a stick. How difficult could it be to harm someone with that? Only the Jedi favoured them as weaponry for the same reason only the Jedi wore hooded robes into battle. They were idiots. It was part of their silly traditions.

Leaping at Thex, Mari rummaged with her bound hands and found the tarnished Jedi blade that Bitters had given her in his last moments. Finding what she assumed was the 'on' button, she outstretched her arms behind her. Thex had spun around and unholstered his blaster, but Mari's adrenaline wouldn't let her take notice. With all her strength she slammed down toward him and spun her hands, frantically pressing the button and hoping for a sword to emerge from the end facing away from her. Nothing happened. Her hands flew past Thex but slammed hard into the console by his shoulder. He retaliated by slamming his body against hers to buy time. Her bad arm wailed in agony as it was crushed, by the console on one side, and the butt of the useless lightsaber handle on the other.

_Wrong button,_ she thought numbly as the weapon's rim jammed into her flesh.

She expected to be shot, but Thex settled for a sideways blow to her head. He laughed as she dropped the saber hilt to the floor, sighing in relief as she did. It wasn't a particularly malicious laugh, in fact he seemed more confused than anything, but it was enough to rile her. Throwing herself back, she used to opportunity to hit his face with the back of her head, and threw several backward kicks his way. One of them happened to connect perfectly with his stomach, and he dropped his weapon too.

The end of the fight passed too quickly for her to keep up with, and she never remembered the details. Dropping down, she picked up the blaster, turned as neatly as possible and fired seven shots without looking. She knew there were seven because later she noticed six carbon-scored holes in the back of her cockpit.

Thex was already dead, his face against the floor. She could smell the blasted flesh and exposed blood. Crispin just stared at her.

Mari hadn't expected to feel any revulsion for killing him, but she staggered backward anyway. She had already fired on the stormtroopers who had boarded the _Drunk Dancer_, and killed at least one of them, but this was different. Nobody mourned a trooper. They didn't even seem like people, exactly. The Empire had always used them as an instrument of fear; their blank, white helmets were a symbol that made them simultaneously more and less than human.

This was just a man. And he wasn't even an Imperial, exactly. Just an ordinary man, trying to work out what to do next. Just scared.

She couldn't think. As she looked around, no words came to her. Her whole body felt numb.

Outside, she saw the familiar face of Imperial Centre. The old planet was dotted and lined by orange and yellow lights, reaching all over it in carefully planned patterns. The planet was irreversibly defaced, but the lights made it more beautiful.

People had always said they looked like polished corusca stones, studded into the landscape. The world came closer to them as _Shilo_ drifted toward it.

Nearby, just in view, was a starship. In the classic Imperial design, it was angled, enormous and grey. A military Star Destroyer.

As Mari stood over Thex's body, the ship began to change direction.


	9. Quite a Good Pilot

_He was the best star pilot in the galaxy, and a cunning warrior. I understand you've become quite a good pilot yourself._

_And he was a good friend._

_

* * *

_

_Shilo_ drifted lethargically into orbit. Almost as slowly, a larger ship advanced upon it from behind. Mari watched it on her rear viewscreen, edging steadily into view, taking up more of the screen. From this angle it seemed to go on forever.

Her hands were fastened behind her back, her fingers all but frozen by the stun-binders. The rest of her body was still, and if Crispin was saying anything she didn't hear him.

Mari's head shook without her wanting it to. Two days ago she had been wondering how to fill-up the long hours of her company vacation. Now she was watching a warship bear down on her.

Still staring, she became aware of words somewhere in her subconscious. Meekly trying to concentrate on them, she simply waited for them to form sentences. Maybe they would tell her what to do.

.

'Take it easy, Mari… this is just landing. You're not escaping Naboo, for crying out loud.'

An uncouth giggle escaped the girl's wide, gleaming grin. Sensing a smirk appearing on John's face, she tried to make it sound husky. The noise became the purr she knew he liked, but only just in time.

'Slow down, love,' he said, in case she hadn't understood.

_Pathfinder 38 _accelerated just a touch and threatened to spin sideways. The move was nicely controlled, but enough to make John doubt her for a moment. His hand appeared at the back of her head, wrapping itself idly around her long, black plait. She slowed down and enjoyed his happy sigh at her neck.

Outside, Coruscant was beautiful. Although John and Mari had only been awake for a few hours, flying back from his business trip on Corellia, it was midnight for those on the capital. The closer they got, the more lights switched on. The planet seemed to be glowing for them, warming up at their proximity.

'You're not half bad,' he said, as if he had expected her stunt to endanger them. 'Almost seems like you're enjoying this.'

He was teasing. John had known Mari for two months, and he knew what flying meant to her. They had met when he had wandered into her parents' shop, looking for a power coupling that would fit his H-73 class Axxo core-runner, and having no luck. Because he had a nice voice and she was lonely, she had explained how she could retrofit an F-38 and offered a free installation. A couple of hours later she was done, and her unsubtle advances had settled just as perfectly as her old coupling. He had taken the shuttle for a quick spin with her in it, and he had seen so much joy in her face that he had fallen for her very deeply, very quickly. Years later he would talk about that moment often. Now, she already treasured it, but for a different reason. It was the first time she had broken atmosphere. She had truly never been happier.

And this was the first time she had flown a ship herself. Having spent so many hours working on ship parts and engines, and being an avid reader of instruction flimsies and holonet help networks, she already knew how to handle most light spacecraft. Right out of hyperspace, the handover of the control yoke had been tricky, but right now she was flying better than John ever had. And that just made the moment even sweeter.

Handing her the reigns of his small-but-expensive shuttle had been an extremely sweet gesture. She wondered what had triggered it.

'I am rather enjoying it,' she replied distantly. 'Do you need a chauffeur? I could get used to this kind of work.'

'Who said this was work? I'm not paying you, y'know! My directors' budget doesn't quite stretch to that.'

'I'd have paid _you_ for this.'

He laughed. 'You're crazy. Flying is hard. And dangerous, and damned unpleasant.'

Mari's face softened in exaggerated sympathy. She could have kissed him, but it would have been a distraction. This was too much fun. Tilting the ship's nose in preparation, she found the sleek co-ordinate tracker to her left and let the computer plan a direct route to John's work's landing panel. At this point, the precise directions on-screen translated into Basic as 'down', so she dipped a little more.

For now there was nothing else to do. Gazing at her homeplanet from a completely new angle, she leaned back into John's palm. After a moment, she increased acceleration, just a bit.

Only a short while ago, Mari had been stuck down there, all the way down there, just dreaming about this… wondering how it felt to defy gravity, to push your way out of a planet's grasp. Only imagining the much-ballyhooed reduced-rumble of an Axxo gear driver. Looking at space from _beneath_.

It looked different up here. Coruscant was just a part of things, now. Not so imposing. And from this viewpoint, there was no denying its beauty.

'Mari,' John said, smiling almost as much as she was. 'Happy Republic Day.'

This time she did kiss him, but only for a moment.

.

The communicator was beeping. Mari had to blink at it twice before she reacted. The little built-in screen identified the message as coming from the dreadnought _Allecto_.

No monologue developed in her mind to guide her. She couldn't think clearly enough to assess the situation. Behind her, Crispin was still and silent, even his breathing barely audible.

Beyond the tarnished transparisteel viewscreen, one of the Emperor's finest ships waited for her next move. Imperial Centre glistened beneath.

Staring out at the ship and holding imaginary eye-contact, she stood, half-turned and reached her little finger over to the comm. Straining her sore arm, she rejected the call and switched off the device.

In a second she was half-way across the cockpit and signalling for Crispin to turn around. When he was done gaping at her surprise, he managed to pull his hands down low enough for her to reach them. Both were amazed at how quickly her numb, backwards fingers undid the knots at the lad's wrists. Gripping his small forearm roughly, she yanked the remaining cord free and dropped it.

'All right, get the blaster and break these. Don't shoot my hands off.'

Crispin nodded, distantly. 'Okay.'

'Quickly, Cris. Then figure out some hyperspace co-ordinates. Anywhere but Dantoo–'

Her hands felt very hot for a second, and then before she could stiffen in fear the shot was taken. Her cuffs were broken in the middle and deactivated, leaving her fingers itching with pins-and-needles.

'You want _me_ to help fly the ship?' Crispin asked. His voice conveyed equal parts amusement and terror, and he was moving much too slowly. She pushed him by the shoulders into the co-pilot's seat.

'Yes. Hyperspace. Anywhere.' And before she was done speaking, she had angled _Shilo's_ nose right down. She needed a direction to run while Crispin did his work, and down seemed good right now. She aimed one-handed, her left palm on the choke, gently holding down a small durasteel control bar.

With no further warning, _Shilo_ catapulted itself into half of its top speed, thanks to a trick Mari had leaned on her first pilot's job, apprenticing at a heavy freight company. For a second the ship's interior gravity dipped with the sudden leap, making Crispin lose his breath before he could react to it verbally.

Mari had expected enormous blaster cannons to be re-aiming, if not firing by now, but there was no fire. As she careened wildly away for more than a minute, putting a good distance behind her, the capital ship seemed to be ignoring them. 'Good start,' she muttered, wondering if she had caught the ship's commander off-guard. She exhaled very slowly, until another beep grabbed her attention.

Multiple missile locks. Five. Now seven. That didn't make any sense: the _Allecto_ was going to hurl ship-to-ship missiles at this distance? As her shuttle's nose dived madly away from it, Mari dared to take a good look at her aggressor in the rear viewscreen. As before, the ship was just drifting idly. It was only as she was shifting her gaze back that she noticed: a couple of the stars were moving.

Not stars, though. Twin Ion Engine fighters. Moving very, very fast.

The first volley of missiles followed quickly, giving Mari plenty of time to jam the controls to starboard and evade them. Five more locks appeared as she banked, and the other seven reappeared as she began to leap over their most-likely paths. A few more seconds and the space around them was spattered orange by too-wide detonations. The buffeting slowed her down a little, but Mari had already compensated with secondary thrust.

'You just dodged twelve targeted rockets…' Crispin was saying. Mari didn't process the words.

'_Finish the calculations!_' she yelled, but her voice was almost drowned-out by a shrill, metallic screech from above. One of the TIEs zoomed overhead at incredible speed, turning quickly as it did. The grey-black hull was tiny in comparison to _Shilo_, but for the two enormous plated wings on either side. At the back of her mind, Mari wondered why the pilot was so quick to get out from in front of her: her trash chute was the best projectile weapon she had, and _it_ faced the opposite direction. Perhaps he wasn't used to battling stolen delivery runners.

With a second warning wail, another fighter came close behind, firing a green hyphen of laser that distracted her. Without thinking, in one movement of her left hand she deactivated half her jets and slammed to port, spinning around. The bolt punctured the bottom of her ship's belly, punching a hole in the hold. Nothing serious, but the fix would not be cheap.

Not wanting to give her pursuers time to ready their next shots, she dove down again, wondering what had become of the second missile attack she had been promised. Immediately she had her answer as five more missiles blazed toward the back of her. Only five? Where were the other ships? And why had it taken so long to launch the attack in the first place? Either the Empire was very confident, or...

'Co-ordinates are in!' Crispin called, weakly.

Even as she artfully weaved around the torpedoes, curving the ship around in a whirl the TIEs themselves would have struggled with, she knew it was too late. The fifth missile arrived from above and she dodged it too, but the two fighters closest to her had been indolently lining-up their shots.

They weren't trying to kill her.

Mari shunted her nose away from Imperial Centre and into what she hoped was completely empty space. With a tight fist she pulled a familiar lever, and waited for light-speed to save them.

A burst of enthusiastic laserfire smashed through the back end of _Shilo_ and the engines juddered loudly, whinnying a complaint as they failed to break the light barrier. The hyperdrive was no good, then – either disintegrated or disconnected. On impulse she tried the rest of her jets, just to see where else she could go. She figured she had time. The TIEs were likely waiting for her surrender now.

'I…' Crispin was muttering. Mari slid her hand over his shoulder for the briefest moment. Hitting keys and pulling the yoke had been easy, but this hurt her arm.

'Not your fault,' she said simply.

Retracting the hand and laying it on the controls again, Mari blinked twice quickly. There was no way they could outrun the fighter squadron in empty space, and now there was no magic escape button.

But she could always head for home.

.

Whilst John lay with his back to her, Mari wondered if he was only pretending to sleep. He had been laying there a while now, and his breathing was heavier. If he had actually fallen asleep, she would be furious.

'Honey,' she whispered. He hated being called that. He said it was 'common'. Several times he had asked her to stop saying it all together, but she didn't like the idea of him controlling her so much. And if he had fallen asleep right in the middle of her 'silent treatment', then he bloody deserved it.

'_Hoooo-neeee…_'

'Go to sleep, love. Tired.' He sounded barely conscious.

'I can't sleep. Can you? After a conversation like that, you're just going to sleep? I don't want to leave things like that!'

No response from him this time. Cold. Either he really was asleep, or this was a side of him she had never seen. She couldn't stand to be ignored. They had spent the whole evening on their 'conversation', and early tomorrow morning she and _Shuttle I-LO_ were due to make a trip to Alderaan. It would be days before they would see each other again.

'I don't want to _leave_ things like that, John.'

He didn't even move.

'John, listen. I can't let that go and then not see you until–'

'You'll have to,' he said, mustering his energy enough for a sentence. He hefted his body around to face her. Her husband's gorgeous blue eyes were cold in the twilight, his smell not so sweet. 'I'm sick of talking and we're not getting anywhere. Just get used to it. For once just let something go and get on with things. _Leave_ it alone.' He gave her his back again, tugging the blanket too much as he did.

What he had said stung her, and for a moment she didn't want to continue. She shot a wounded, demanding look at the stray hairs on his shoulders, which quivered a little at her breath.

The last week had not been pleasant. In fact, the last six or seven years hadn't been pleasant. But every time they fought, there was a resolution. In most cases, John would admit defeat and apologise. Often Mari would have to explain precisely what he was apologising for later, but he knew when he was in the wrong. Sometimes, Mari would be the one to blame, and she would make it clear, in as many words, that she felt bad about it. Either way, the argument would be brought to a close, and then the marriage would continue. They would hold hands, and go out, and spend time together while they could.

John's work designing and supervising new building work was taking him off-world more and more, and Mari had fallen completely in love with Imperial Transport. It was a rare thing: a job that gave her nothing but joy, at least when she was above the ground. Paperwork and meetings were still a chore, doubly so if they kept her from flying, but the affair had stood the test of time. After years, she still felt a rush every time she lifted a load of parcels out of Coruscant's atmosphere.

Or rather, Imperial _Centre's_ atmosphere. She still wasn't used to calling it that. She figured she was exaggerating, but the end of the Wars seemed to be the time when everything had started to go downhill. Even the IT office had imposed its blasted restrictions and targets that same month.

John, bless him, seemed to hate the government, though he would never talk about it nowadays. Mari wasn't aware of anyone who claimed to actually like it, save politicians and a few businessmen, but with John it was different. His perpetual anger had started around the time of the reorganisation. When she failed to instantly agree with his opinions, he had grown a tad more distant. It had always been hard to get him to talk, of course.

Every year since then had been the same as the last, but a little bit worse. Every time their anniversary came around, their conversation became a little less honest, the time they spent apart grew a touch. Her jokes became a bit more sarcastic. And the arguments. They became his fault.

Mari closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but found it hard not to think about how angry she was, how angry she would be for the next two days when she ought to be enjoying the Alderaan run. When she stopped thinking about the evening, she became very aware of her breathing. She absently began to count her breaths, and worried about bothering John with them. And there was her leg. Their bed wasn't very big, and now she had one leg right on top of another. It had never bothered her before, but now it was keeping her awake. She could turn over, but then her head would be right at the edge of the pillow. And it would be the edge with the bump worn into it.

Her arm seemed uncomfortable, too. She wondered when she had stopped looping it underneath John's neck. She had always thought that he might be uncomfortable with it there, but never asked. Nowadays he slept better, so maybe.

Mari got out of the bed. She made no effort to do it softly; she wanted him to wake up and apologise. Or at least to get back to avoiding her questions and making his aggressive little remarks. She just wanted to talk to him. But he didn't even pull the blanket back over himself. He had work tomorrow, too, but only a few blocks away. An ethnic neighbourhood, he had said.

As noisily as she could, she opened the door and wandered outside to their meagre but nicely-situated balcony. It offered a good view of the capital district, and the buildings grew shorter in the middle of the vista, framing it for her. Far into the distance she could see the majestic outline of what had once been '500 Republica'.

An artificially-regulated breeze blew against her thin night-dress, making her miss the warmth of the bedroom.

A few years ago, she would have made him wake up. When they were young, she would have nagged him to death. Now she just didn't want to hear what he had to say. She knew things were bad, but she wasn't going to think about that. She loved him.

One by one the street-lights were activating, illuminating the grey permacrete walls of a planet's worth of bars, apartments and landmarks. The sky seemed to fade in deference, as if the stars were dying out.

Despite herself, she yawned a deep and satisfying yawn. The end of it dragged her face down to her chest, and she headed back for the door. A rest would be good.

.

'Hang on, Cris. We're not done yet.'

Crispin looked over at her. His face was ashen. 'I've never seen you like this,' he said quietly.

'You've never seen me being shot at by military fighter craft? I should hope not. Just give them a minute. Let them think we've lost.'

'We have.'

'Nooooo…' Mari whispered, as if she were acting in a bad holoplay. 'We're going to dive. We have a better chance of getting away inside atmosphere.'

'We… what?'

Mari smiled, and stroked his styled hair again. She was growing awfully fond of the boy. Now, for the first time since Thex's hijack, she was glad he was with her.

'Mari,' he said, nodding at the rear viewscreen. 'Some kind of heavy shuttle, there.' Mari followed his gaze and saw it too, a transport of some kind travelling from _Allecto_ to their location. She didn't feel like finding out who was inside.

_Shilo_ went from cruising to top speed in little under a minute, tearing down through space toward the surface of Imperial Centre. The pilots watched the Fleet shuttle follow, though it was quickly overtaken by the gang of TIE fighters, which had been circling them like drekflies.

At first, the smaller ships hurled laser blasts at Mari with abandon, and she used her relatively calm state to her advantage, picking up on their favoured patterns as she made a two-decades-old light cargo ship flit about the sky, dodging shots over and over, as if the assault were choreographed.

Every bolt she saw fly wide of the mark made her teeth grit more in a determined, humourless grin. She was Mari Dalto, and she was making Imperial Army fighter pilots look bad.

The ballet continued as the dancers' descent accelerated. Black changed to indigo and that in turn mudded into indistinct blue. The sun had just finished rising, and it washed the whole scene with a welcome dash of colour, but at the cost of visibility. Every few seconds, a TIE screeched and a bolt was shot, and every few seconds, Mari yanked her ship out of the way. Two of them managed to hit her at she broke through the clouds, one blast clipping the nose without much damage, and the second taking advantage and cutting into the rear. Luckily _Shilo_'s movement wasn't hampered.

Now the buildings were in sight. They were right over the capital. Way off she could actually see the palace. Crispin was laughing.

The TIEs were forced to hold fire, now, unless they were close enough to be confident in their aim. Evading their flight-paths proved easier than evading their ship-blasters, and Mari felt her muscles relaxing. 'More ships,' Crispin said, tensing her right back up again.

From below came all manner of Imperial vessels. She immediately noticed two government shuttles like the one that had left the _Allecto_. The bulk of the force comprised small judicial ships, and there were even some fire-craft looming in on them. Mari was forced to adopt a sensible speed in order to avoid collision. The TIEs backed-off, apparently planning to force Mari into a landing.

They were low enough now that Mari could see empty landing pads everywhere, and the respite forced her to think about her next move.

'We could…' Crispin began, as if sensing her thoughts, but he couldn't finish the sentence.

Shaking her head very gently, desperately searching for some semblance of a plan, Mari hit the thrusters. Getting _away_ was all she could think of.

'Hit the back-ups, very hard, right… now,' she said in a thin voice.

As soon as her speed visibly increased, two more green lasers caught _Shilo_ right in the engines. Inside the cockpit there was silence. Mari and Crispin wrestled to gain command of the ship, unwilling to accept that suddenly neither one of them could move it an inch. As the broken engine bank found richer and richer atmosphere, it began pumping black smoke into the air.

A deafening _smack_ caught Mari completely off-guard, disorienting her completely, as _Shilo's_ rear hit the edge of a landing panel. The ship skidded horizontally before skidding off the pad and hurtling to the ground again. The design of the planet's city-structure managed to slow the fall somewhat, as the tumbling vessel crashed into more exposed pads and walls. Every time, the ship took the brunt of the damage, its hull failing to stand up to the millennia-old construction. _Shilo_ crumpled and broke into pieces, the small army of ships surrounding it doing their best to steer the disaster away from traffic.

The first impact threw the pilots out of their seats, slamming them into the walls and chairs. At the second, Mari felt some bones snap and gave all her attention to the pain. For the rest of the descent, she was barely aware of where she was. By the end, as she lay crushed and bleeding through her tunic, her mind would only tell her that she needed to _do something_.

It ended in one final, massive crash, at the very lowest level of the city. Permacrete slabs were thrown into the air like confetti as the smoking wreck finally came to a halt.

_Do something, Mari_.

_Cris needs you to do something. Don't leave it like this_.


	10. Last Chance

_Jabba, this is your last chance! Free us, or die.

* * *

_

'Mari, get up! Get up!'

The voice was nasal. It had been bothering her for a while now, but not enough to open her eyes.

'Mari, we need to move! Get up. Can you walk?'

She made a sound halfway between a snore and a groan. Hopefully the annoying person trying to wake her would get the message. If she could successfully ignore the hard floor, the pain in her back and the black smoke in the air, she could sure as hell ignore this.

'I need your help.'

It was Crispin. With another moan, Mari tried to pull herself out of the unfeeling cocoon of sleep she had finally drifted into. It had been a while since she'd had a good night's rest. Something nagged at her memory, warning her to stay put. Telling her that things would be a lot easier if she wasn't conscious right now. In the long run, she knew, everything would be worse… but things always were. Taking in another breath of foul-smelling air, she screwed her eyes tighter.

Crispin grabbed her and lifted her body to his height, making her stand on two legs both fractured below the knee. She awoke just long enough to loudly swear at him, and he retaliated by dragging her roughly across the cockpit, pulling on her arms.

Mari's shins collided with a slab of uprooted floor tile and a fallen cabinet before she surrendered, grabbing onto his small back and trying to walk by his side. Slowly, he got her out of _Shilo's _twisted, flaming husk, and dragged her for a few more steps.

She shouted the word 'legs' until he stopped moving her, then forced herself to find better words.

'My legs… are broken, Crispin.'

'Oh. Right. Uh, maybe I can carry you. Come on, we have to go!'

'I'm in… a lot of pain.' Come to think of it, Crispin seemed to be more or less unharmed. Suddenly she wanted to swear again.

Finally opening her eyes a little, Mari glanced at the scene. They stood on grey-black permacrete, in an unusually open area for this part of the city. For once on Imperial Centre, she could see a good distance in all directions. The sight relaxed her, making her feel free. It was almost like being alone in space.

A long, wide ramp began a few metres away from her feet. At the end of it was an enormous, angular building with ostentatious spiked towers at its corners. She could not see all the way up, but the upper levels of the place seemed crumbled and cracked. There were one or two gaping holes knocked into it, as if from a battle. Mari guiltily wondered if _Shilo's_ descent had caused the damage, before she realised.

'This is the Jedi ruin,' she groaned.

Crispin was grinning happily. 'Yeah. I always used to come here.' As he spoke, he stopped moving, supported her a little better, and seemed to relax.

'See that bench?' Mari pretended that she did, and nodded. 'I used to sit there and eat lunch, when I could get away from the Academy for long enough. It was an hour's trip by speeder. Sometimes I brought friends here, but they always got bored of my talk. You know.' Crispin's voice grew distant. 'Korr, from the Academy... him and his girlfriend had a little kid, Jaden. Cutest thing. Jaden really loved my Jedi stories. Probably didn't understand them. I'm going to miss my friends.'

There were no fences or armed patrols keeping subjects out of the old Jedi Temple, but things like that were no longer necessary in the Empire. Everyone knew that the place was off-limits, and more than that, a symbol. The ruins had stood this last decade as a grim reminder of the Emperor's power. Nobody tried to sneak-in. Crispin's ancient park bench was probably as close as anyone dared come.

Standing still was starting to hurt more than walking, but Mari could see the ships coming in to land. There was no point in trying to run now. She didn't let herself think about what would happen next.

'Well, here they are,' Crispin said, watching the Judiciary craft land hurriedly in a wide circle around them. The TIE fighters were already headed back into the sky, and the _Allecto's_ little Army shuttle was slowly descending.

The boy's thick, expensive brown bathrobe rubbed against Mari's hand. The soft fabric felt nice against her hot, grimy skin.

He deserved better than this. Cris was a good lad. He had been born in the darkest of days, raised by Imperial sympathisers and schooled at the Academy, but he had always stood against it, in his way. He had made his own way; smiled and told jokes, grown his hair long and been polite with the strange old lady he worked with. Read his stories. It wasn't much of an achievement in a galaxy as large as this, but she respected it.

'Do you still have the blaster?' she asked.

'Nope.'

'Oh.'

The last of the government ships came down and everyone just waited for the shuttle. Some clean-uniformed men emerged in a hurry and pointed pistols and rifles at the fugitives, but none spoke.

Crispin deserved better than this. _You have to do better than this._

Finally, the finned shuttle settled down on the floor. Mari had to wonder if it had waited deliberately to come down last.

'We managed to get an awful lot of Imperials chasing us,' Crispin said, still smiling his winsome smile. 'I can honestly say I've never had so much fun.'

Mari had to fight off the urge to swear again. He probably would have just laughed anyway. Try as she might, she could never make him angry, or indeed make him shut up.

'Half the capital constabulary surrounding us,' he went on. 'Officers flanking us as if we're the deadliest bounty hunters in Hutt space… and a bloody _Star Destroyer!_'

She nodded, wanting him to stop. The thought gave her no pleasure.

'We've made quite the impression! Not bad for a couple of day's work. Survived a firefight, found the hidden Rebellion, re-taken our ship, out-flown a rack of TIE fighters! I bet some more stormtroopers come out of that shuttle! What a fantastic episode… what an adventure!

'Yes,' she said in a quiet voice. 'You've made your point. Just…'

'Be quiet. All right.'

'All right.'

The wait seemed to go on for an unreasonable amount of time. To ease her complaining body, Mari gently lowered herself to her knees. After a moment Crispin crouched beside her.

At length, a young man emerged from the shuttle and neatly stepped down. On his wrist was a fancy holoprojector, displaying the head and shoulders of someone Mari didn't recognise. The officer spoke to the blue image as he slowly walked, but the conversation was nearly done.

'I'll make it a special delivery, sir,' he said.

'_No delays, Acys,_' replied a harsh digitised voice, and the call abruptly ended.

The fellow wore a military jerkin and trousers, in grey with one medal at his lapel. His dark hair was obscured by a neat cap, and offset by pale green eyes.

'Mari Dalto and Crispin Koryan?' he called to them. Mari nodded slowly. 'Oh no, don't get up! I'm afraid you've taken this, uh, transport ship without filling-in the proper documentation, Mrs Dalto. And taken rather bad care of it, it seems.'

Acys made a hand gesture which Mari failed to understand, until she realised it was meant for the officers approaching from behind. A wide boot rested at her aching back and forced her to the floor. The side of her head hit the ground first, and she simply attended to the throbbing in her temple whilst Crispin came down a couple of feet away from her.

'I shan't bother reading the charges against you just yet,' he said, sauntering closer. 'My superiors want a word with you.'

'They won't get it,' Crspin said. He had made his voice a tad deeper, and somehow, even more posh. Mari almost laughed.

'I beg your pardon, master Koryan?'

'You'll get nothing from us. You know who we are, and you have just seen what we are capable of. I suggest you get back inside your starship, lieutenant. Come back with a garrison.'

_Shut up! Whatever that means, shut up! You're going to get yourself shot!_

Acys seemed to ponder the odd little outburst for a moment, before deciding to ignore it completely. He made another motion to the guards behind them, and cocked his head sideways.

Crispin's phoney voice called out again. 'Lieutenant, you brought this many ships with you for a reason. We are agents of the Rebellion.'

The soldier's curiosity was piqued. 'The Rebellion, is it?'

'The Alliance to Restore the Republic. A united army of all His Highness' most dedicated enemies. A fleet beneath your sight, massing in numbers beyond your comprehension.'

_Will you _please_ shut up?_

'Actually,' Acys muttered, 'I was expecting a Rebel to be here. Where is the one who brought you here?'

Crispin raised his head and looked through hair-strands at the officer. 'Dead,' he replied. 'Return to your ship, sir, or join him.'

_Stop._

Acys chuckled and took a couple of steps forward. 'I think not.'

'You stand,' Crispin immediately hollered back, 'at the foot of the Jedi Temple of Coruscant! It was our home, and remains our fortress watch against the dark! Once, a great and powerful knight died defending this place from your Army. Today it stands, and his Order remains, waiting to take back what was lost.'

Crispin held out his hand to the side and opened his palm. Mari understood, and knew that there was no time to think. She couldn't let him down now.

Imperceptibly reaching into her pants pocket, she found the cold metal cylinder and wrapped her fingers around it. With a fast flick she chucked the lightsaber across, just above the floor, disturbing the settling dust beneath.

In a second the teenager was in the air, holding the weapon aloft, its brilliant white-green blade flashing into existence with a vicious and strident squeal.

And then Crispin was dead, fallen on his face with his body punctured by a barrage of laser bolts. But the moment had been magnificent. Mari had thrilled to see the looks on the officers' faces, to watch them clumsily fire three or four shots each without taking the time to aim. The air had been lit and the atmosphere burned by the sword, just for a moment.

Mari wondered if anyone had seen it. One of the city's million inhabitants must have watched what had happened. Some of the people in the distant towers must have noticed. Amongst all the bright lights of Imperial Centre, this one had stood out like a precious gem.

And the lieutenant's eyes had widened, just a touch. He had taken one step back. Scared.

The blade seemed to extinguish as soon as Crispin let go. His body collapsed just as quickly.

Immediately, Mari felt sick. Her eyes stung as if urging her to cry, but she couldn't make herself blink. She hadn't managed to keep him safe for three days. In the end, she had even given him the weapon.

It was over.

She had failed.


	11. Tired

_You would prefer another target – a military target? Then name the system!_

_I grow tired of asking this so it will be the last time. Where is the Rebel base?_

* * *

The walls of the interrogation room were painted black. When she had been left there overnight, the only light had seeped through the grilled, red ceiling. The hovering, spherical droid in the corner was black, too, with a single red photoreceptor surrounded by sensory apparatus and self-sterilised needles. So far it had not moved from that spot, but its droning repulsorlift hum had been Mari's constant companion.

She was trapped inside a booth-like containment unit, only able to move her neck. By now, she was starting to lose track of time. In this room, days and nights blended together. She knew it had been a while since the crash at Coruscant, but not too long. After all the torture, she was still waiting for someone to ask her a question.

Perhaps, she mused, they didn't feel the need to specify. She already knew what they wanted to know; Thex had explained it. He had told her to just give it to them. Now it seemed like a good idea. She would likely never leave this place, but perhaps she might be moved to a proper cell.

Governor Tarkin, seated on a thin metal chair an aide had brought in, studied her face. She recognised his features from the holonet news, and although his visits were rare, it was clear that he was in charge. Were it not for the sharp cheekbones, he would look very ordinary, very grey. One would never have guessed what he was capable of.

He had been watching her for a little while, though Mari couldn't tell why. She was glad of the company, now. Upon his arrival he had greeted her simply but politely, sounding very much the old-fashioned gentleman. Now he just stared at her bruised face, as if he were trying to extract his information by reading her mind.

'I do not want particularly to drag this out,' he began, his voice effortlessly compelling. 'And I don't presume to trick you. I know little of you, Mrs Dalto, beyond your competence with starships and your work record.'

Mari didn't know if she was supposed to reply. There was little else to know about her, she thought.

'I really wouldn't know what sort of persuasion to begin with,' he said at last. 'So. You docked on the unregistered Rebel cruiser and made contact with an armed survivor. You survived a blaster fight and rendezvoused with the Rebel fleet. The defector who had given us the location of the cruiser contacted the Empire one day later, offering to bring you to us. You and your assistant killed him in the sky above Imperial Centre and evaded capture until reaching the planet's surface.'

The Governor stood with his hands clasped behind his back. 'Where,' he said, very matter-of-fact, 'is the Rebellion's base of operations?'

Mari looked back at him. She had become very conscious of her blinking.

Tarkin just continued to peer at her, his face reminiscent of an impatient schoolmaster. After the tiniest movement from his finger, the equipment at Mari's back delivered a long electric shock. Her head whipped back and forth and she cried out, the shock seemingly making it hurt much more.

Whenever it ended, Tarkin said again, 'Name the star system you travelled to.'

_Dantooine, _she thought._ They're on Dantooine_.

Breathing in abrupt nasal bursts, Mari tried to silence her mind. She tried not to think about the Rebel Alliance. She knew that if she spoke the word, their efforts would be over. But that didn't bother her so much. Tarkin's finger moved again.

Again, she felt her body trying desperately to convulse, unbearable heat rising at her skin. She made herself forget about Bitters and Thex, about KN-11 still working in the ruined enclave after his memory wipe. Oddly, she thought of Zaltharis the fish-man. The droning one with the big eyes who had said 'may the Force be with you' so casually.

A third blast of pain. She thought this one lasted longer, but it always seemed that way.

When she had composed herself, she addressed her inquisitor. 'You didn't mention the part with the lightsaber,' she said.

Tarkin seemed mildly curious. 'Indeed,' he answered. 'I only need the name of the system. It is not important.'

'You don't…' she swallowed, 'want to know why the Rebels have lightsabers?'

'Do they? I did not imagine young Koryan had been an Alliance soldier.'

Mari tried to bore into Tarkin's precise gaze. 'Not exactly a soldier,' she murmured. 'He was trained to use that thing.'

'After viewing the footage, I must say it certainly didn't appear that way.'

'He was trained, in secret.' _Keep talking, Mari. He won't hurt you if you keep talking. _'There were survivors. Of the Jedi Purge.'

Tarki's reaction was hard to judge. 'Yes,' he said.

'And they helped unite the factions. Founded the Rebellion. They have a powerful Jedi master.'

'And Koryan was the... _apprentice_, was he?'

'A padawan learner,' she corrected.

Purposefully, Tarkin returned to his seat. The look he gave her was more than genteel; he seemed very reasonable. It almost seemed cruel to lie to him.

'And you, my dear – were you also trained by this renegade mystic? It would be easy enough to believe, considering the flying skill you demonstrated. Is this Jedi the one who taught you your sleight-of-hand? How to silently throw a weapon into another's grasp?'

She shook her head. 'I don't believe in the Force.'

'Is that so?' Tarkin scoffed, making his sarcasm clear with a minute downwards tilt of his chin. 'You must be the only Rebel who does not. But I'm not sure _I_ believe in it anymore.' The head tilted back. 'We have crushed it. If it survives, then it is no threat to us now.'

Watching his finger closely, Mari tried hard to think of something else to say. Some counter-argument.

'Hmm, no,' the Grand Moff said. 'There is no hidden Jedi teacher, for what that may be worth. There is no magical prodigy, and perhaps there are no Rebel agents. There is only a woman, and a lightsaber, and a brown bathroom robe.'

Mari felt her pulse quicken. Her body screamed at her to escape, but she ignored it, kept still.

The case she had been kept in was snug, and the room was dark. The conditions were designed to intimidate, she guessed. But now she noticed how they bore a strong resemblance to the bedroom she had once shared with her husband in the city. The whirring droid with the red light in the corner reminded her an awful lot of _Shilo's_ needless admin console. And after working with Crispin Koryan for three years, she was well-used to resisting interrogation. Tarkin was nothing.

Mari closed her eyes and let her body rest. There would be a lot of discomfort through her incerceration, but hell, she had lived through worse.

It bothered her that she would not spend the rest of her life in space. In truth she had no idea where she had been taken, but this place was simply too big to be a ship or a space station.

'And, of course, there is the hidden base. The name of the system, please. Either tell me now, or prolong this. You _will_ tell me what I wish to know, if not voluntarily then via neural probe.'

Mari said nothing and tried to move her arm to a comfortable position. Again her body was subjected to a rush of searing pain. Though her eyes watered, she made herself get used to it.

At some point the Governor left her alone and she drifted into a wonderful, dreamless sleep.


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue

* * *

_Ben makes a sudden lunge at the huge warrior but is checked by a lightning movement of the Sith. Another of the Jedi's blows is blocked, then countered. Ben moves around the Dark Lord and starts backing into the massive starship hangar. The two powerful warriors stand motionless for a few moments with laser swords locked in mid-air, creating a low buzzing sound._

_

* * *

_

This is the death of a Jedi.

Master Kenobi's back stoops slightly and his beard is whitened now. There is a harshness to his eyes that would surprise anyone who knew him by his old name.

He has slipped into the heart of a battle station to rescue a princess. He has tricked his way past troops to deactivate a tractor beam, and now he does battle with the Sith Lord's apprentice. It is hard not to feel nostalgic, but he wonders if this day will see the end of the Jedi knights.

He is playing at war, as he did once before. In fact it seems as if his life has been coloured by it, though he has never chosen it willingly, until now. He was at first thrust into battle by his master's decision to intercede on Naboo. His reputation took him to Geonosis, and war found him again. In a day, in an instant, the Jedi were lost to it. As he watched, the students of the Force revealed themselves to the Galaxy in an arena, brandishing sabers and leading cloned soldiers to glorious death. No longer even protectors, they became generals, took up their battle armour. An army of light once more.

The last twenty years of his life, along with the first twenty, were the most precious to him. Looking at it as one might look at a history text, it seems like a very long time to have lived the life he wished for. But the years of the Clone Wars are those that remain in his memories, as if those trials had comprised his entire existence.

As he remembers his life by its wars, so will the Order be remembered. There have been too many battles in the time of the old Republic, and too many lightsabers ignited amongst them. At least, this is how Ben has always felt.

The Wars took everything from the Jedi, but that does not concern him. A Jedi's life is sacrifice, after all. But the Wars also took the Republic. It happened slowly, but the council, Yoda, Ben and his apprentice did not even notice until after it was finished.

When the Emperor announced that the Wars were done, Ben stopped fighting. He lived in loose clothing in a desert, watched over a child and listened to his master. He grew wise and he shut out his feelings. He observed the galaxy, lived the life of a Jedi.

_There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

But the Wars were never done. They never have been. Since the first of the Sith, since the dawn of sentient life, the darkness has never truly died. Now a tall man in black, mechanical armour hurls a red lightsaber at Ben in a flurry. A planet died today. Planets have died before, and they will continue to do so. The Wars will never be done.

Ben deflects the blows and the quick, bitter fighting continues for a few moments. Seeing an opportunity before it happens, he is able to spin around and slow his enemy. There is a tension in the air and Ben looks deeply into the smooth, empty metal plates covering Darth Vader's eyes.

The Sith looks exactly as he does in the Empire's broadcasts. His breathing is both heavy and artificially-regulated. His mouth is carved triangular, forever trapped in an animal snarl, and his voice is altered. His speaking patterns are no longer human, no longer his own. Ben has faced similar foes and smiled as he duelled with them, but he has always pitied them. Now he does not know if he should, but he cannot.

The sound of clones approaching distracts the old man from his concentration, but from their footsteps he detects no ill-will. He senses something more, then. Something greater. He shifts his gaze for a moment.

Luke is safe, and Ben cannot help but smile.

_There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony._

The bright blades are locked again and Ben directs his attention back to Vader. The boy's presence gives him hope. His last hope.

Without having to reach out and regard the hangar, Ben knows that he will die soon. He is surrounded, but Skywalker and the princess are not. They and their enemies just stand, blasters hanging at their sides, watching the confrontation between Jedi and Sith. Good and evil. Kenobi and Skywalker.

Lightsabers.

Ben has always found the swords very noisy. It spoils their grace. In this struggle, as their impossibly-sharp edges shave sparks from the walls of the echoing corridor, the blades have been insufferably loud. The old man almost fancies they are screeching with the thrill of a conflict they have been denied since the last war.

Vader has been enjoying the noise, and both men have added to it with threats. It is as if the dark times had never happened, as if they are still fighting droids on extraordinary worlds. A civilised age, he had called it.

Luke is still stood by his ship, and Ben relaxes his arms. Closing his eyes, he steps backwards and raises the blade in front of him. The darkness he sees is illuminated blue, for a moment, by the glow of the sword. He exhales gently.

Vader swings his weapon without finesse. He does not understand. Ben reaches out to his apprentice and tells him to run.

He regrets that there was not more time to train young Luke. It is well that he yet has ways and means to reach him, as the boy will need to mature before he is ready to wield his father's blade.

Luke was quick to allow the Force to guide him. Brave but thoughtful. On the freighter, the relationship between them was somewhat awkward. Perhaps the deaths of Luke's uncle and aunt were the cause. Perhaps Ben has been away from other people for too long.

But then, there was a moment when he knew he had reached the pupil. The sound of the words is still fresh in his mind. Knowing he may not have another opportunity to do so, he had met the youth's eyes and spoken a simple truth to him. These words are not his own, and were told to him only in passing at the end of a long adventure, but he has never forgotten them or the wisdom they hold.

_The Force_, he had said softly, _will be with you, always_.

The Jedi vanishes and his sword lands softly with his robes.

* * *

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**Author's note:**

_'I'm no Jedi - just a guy with a lightsaber. And a lot of questions.'_

If you stuck with this story, through all its re-writes, delays and reposts, thank you very much!

I really hope you enjoyed my _Star Wars_ story - I had a good time writing it. I've wanted to write an Original Trilogy fic for ages, and it was such a geeky thrill to work out a story in that world, and to fill it with references to the movies (and novels and certain videogames) I love so much. And that's what fanfic is all about.

Thanks to Knightfall1138 for beta-reading parts of this and giving me a lot of much-needed support with it.

And as always - many, many thanks to the people who were kind enough to leave a review - I appreciate them an awful lot.

So take care, keep writing and remember to stay away from the dark side. It will give you yellow eyes like Edward Cullen. And nobody wants that.

M.B.


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